


(Feels Like) Snow

by euhemeria



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [78]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Holidays, Meeting the Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21651472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euhemeria/pseuds/euhemeria
Summary: Christmas is not hers to celebrate, and she has no interest in it, besides, never has.  But this year?  This year, Angela knows, will be different.Or,Despite being Muslim, Fareeha visits her father during Christmas every year.  And this time, she is bringing her Jewish girlfriend along for the ride.
Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [78]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/508281
Comments: 78
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bigsleepy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsleepy/gifts).



> just wanna note going into this in case u havent read my other fics, that sam is deaf so he uses asl. any references to sign/signing/translation are in re: that.
> 
> anyway, im jewish but im writing a christmas fic? idk either. its a useful vehicle for writing abt certain topics and situations and that is all i will say. well that and its abt NOT being christian during christmas, which is an annual adventure for those of us in other faiths, let me tell u

Of all the months, December is certainly one of Angela’s least favorite. The weather, she likes, being quite fond of the winter, and snow, and she likes, too, the cold weather clothing and food, and very much enjoys Hanukkah with her friends, but then, _then_ there is Christmas. That, she is far less fond of.

She does not celebrate it, of course, never has, and does not ever really plan to, but it grates on her all the same. Not others happiness, not the holiday greetings, when they assume that she, too, is Christian, that their experiences are universal and so she must be happy to hear it, not the focus on buying things for others and the pressure people seem to feel to find the perfect gift. All of those things Angela understands, tolerates, and in some cases even supports—it is a good thing, to give to charity, is a good thing, to remember the importance of goodwill towards others—but still, she hates _Christmas._

Always, it is so very lonely.

When Christmas and Hanukkah overlap, she does not mind so much, because she is with her own people, is doing something else that makes her happy, has people beside her, singing with her, even if, once the prayers are over, they are going to go celebrate elsewhere. That is all well and good, for then, she is not alone.

In the old days, she and Ana would have tea together, and Jesse, too, while everyone else celebrated. Now, Jack has abandoned Christmas, and although she has taken steps to repair her relationship with Ana—for Fareeha’s sake—Angela has no interest in being around Jack, particularly, and especially does not want to spend time alone with the two of them together. She cares about them, she does, but it is difficult, to set aside her differences. The stronger this new Overwatch grows, under Fareeha’s guidance, the better it does, the harder it is for her to ignore the many mistakes Jack made, in the way he operated the old Overwatch, in the way he treated her.

(They lied to her, the both of them. They told her they would not use her technology against her will, would not use it for violence, and they did. Again and again and again. They took her and they made her into a weapon, into a killer, and she will always hate Jack for that, she thinks. At least Ana can see that what they did was wrong, at least Ana was hurt by it. She is loyal to Jack, still, finds her own habits hard to break, but does not want this new generation dragged down with them, at least, wants better for Fareeha and for Angela both. Ana has apologized—Jack never will.)

So this year, knowing that Jesse is going to be spending the holiday elsewhere, for once, Angela realizes that, for the first time since the in between years, when she wandered from posting to posting after the Fall, she has no one to spend the day with, no way to not feel so _alone._

It should not matter to her, so she tells herself. This is not her faith, never has been, and if she were a better Jew, then she would not care, would think it just another day of the year, would be content to go to work, and think nothing of it. Such would be right, would be just, and yet, it _does_ matter, does bother her, to be alone.

For so long, she had no one. Before Overwatch, and between it, it was only ever her, by herself, doing her best to just stay afloat, and that is fine, it is. One day of that loneliness will not be so bad, but it does sting. All around her are people who are talking about family, and love, and spending time with those who care about them most. Lena will be with Emily; Lúcio, Hana, and Mei are all taking advantage of the time off to be with their families, even if most of them do not celebrate the holiday; even Genji and Zenyatta have decided to travel, taking advantage of the fact that Ana and Jack promised, already, to keep the base operating while the rest of them enjoyed the holiday.

Even the others, those groups of people she is closest to, will be gone. Brigitte, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn are all heading back to the Lindholm house, celebrating and also spending time with the newest baby in the family, only two months old. With them, Angela has an invitation to go, but finds she cannot accept, would not feel welcome there, anymore. Too much has changed, over the years, and they have all grown closer for it, except for her.

Naturally, Jesse and Baptiste did not invite her with them, back to Haiti for a week, and she would not expect them to. This is their first major holiday as a couple, and so although she considers the both of them close friends, she knows she has no place there, not this year, and especially not all on her own, as a third wheel. That would be awkward—and more than.

And Fareeha?

Fareeha, her partner of three years? Fareeha to whom she is planning to propose, sometime in the next year?

Fareeha is going back to Canada, to see her father, is going to be with him for the week, because she always does so, and only made one exception the year previous because Ana had so recently come back, and she was in an awkward position, not knowing whether or not her father knew her mother was alive, and not wanting to be forced to lie to him, even if by omission.

Fareeha is spending the holiday with her father, and Angela is _not invited._

Which is fine, it is, even if it stings, a bit, to realize that even now, three years into their relationship, she is not given the opportunity to meet in person the man whom, she hopes, will someday be her father-in-law, and she does wonder if she has done something wrong, if something has made Fareeha think that she would not get along with Sam, in the limited video calls she has had with him. It is true, that her sign is not as good as it could be, but Fareeha has been teaching her, and she is trying, even if she is still not nearly so good at it as she would like to be.

If Fareeha does not want to spend the limited time she has with her father translating for the two of them, that Angela would understand. She does not know what that is like, does not know what it must mean to be put in that position, but she imagines that it would be potentially uncomfortable, and a lot of work besides. Should that be the reason, Angela would not want to impose, would not want to make more difficult Fareeha’s holiday, would not want to interrupt the natural flow of conversation, make things awkward.

If Fareeha does not want to invite Angela because her relationship with her father is complicated then that, too, Angela could understand. They have a complicated history, the two of them, one that Angela knows she cannot begin to appreciate, having had only a few years’ experience with her own parents, not nearly long enough to have had real conflicts, differences of opinion, for she was only a child when they died. To invite her will surely complicate whatever it is that still stands, between Fareeha and her father, if only because she has no way of knowing what it is like, to love someone and to feel so very distant from them, at the same time, does not know what it is to weather that sort of conflict, and would surely not know what to do with that sort of tension.

(Ana and Fareeha’s conflict, at least, Angela understands, and even then, she does her best to avoid interceding in any way, or even being alone with only the two of them. There, she has her own stake, and even still, she feels very much the interloper.)

If Fareeha does not want Angela there for any reason, then that is her prerogative, it is. Angela does not want to impose, does not want to invite herself along. Fareeha’s relationship with her father is her own, and as much as Angela would like to be a part of Fareeha’s life in all ways, she cannot force Fareeha to let her in, nor does she want to. Angela just wants to be _invited_ , even if she understands, too, that she cannot demand an invitation, and has no desire to do so.

What she wants is to feel wanted, that is all.

Holidays are hard, even ones like this, which she does not celebrate, for it seems that everyone has someone. All around her, people are discussing buying gifts, and spending the holidays with people whom they love, whom they miss, and are so clearly looking forward to such. Even Ana and Jack, who are decidedly not celebrating, have one another for company, their friendship more enduring and meaningful than so many of the romantic relationships Angela has known.

It will only be her who is alone, this year, only her who has nothing to do, and no one to be with, only her who will be left to this isolation. She should be fine with that, because she is a grown woman, not a little girl, and she has been alone before, has found purpose in doing other things, and does not need others’ time or approval or affection to feel happiness, can be content with her life all on her own.

Still, it is hard, to be the only one not with someone, at a time when it seems as if _everyone_ is going to be spending time with friends, with family, with their loved ones, and she does not like it one bit, the feeling that she is the only one left out.

Yes, she has a partner who loves her, and whom she loves in return. Yes, she has friends so close they may as well be her family, and she can spend time with them any other part of the year. Yes, she has a job that is fulfilling, and she could spend the holiday volunteering at any one of the nearby clinics, find purpose in that way, so that someone else can be with their family on a holiday that, to them, has meaning.

All of these things can be true, and it can be true, too, that Christmas itself has no meaning to her, and she can still feel lonely, when she realizes that Fareeha is going to be gone for a whole ten days, and it will be just her, here, doing her best to avoid Ana and Jack. 

There is nothing to be done for that. 

(No matter how old she grows, or how far she comes, no matter how many friends she has, Angela will never quite be over it, the feeling of complete isolation she felt after her parents died, the placelessness, the knowledge that everyone else in the world had someone, but she had no one. Time can dull that pain, make the pangs of it fewer and further between, but it will never be fully erased, and always, she will be sensitive to it, when she feels she is being left behind, rejected, abandoned. She is aware of this, and will not make it Fareeha’s burden to bear, will not impose upon her partner because she has never quite healed from that old wound, but knowing the source of her pain, the irrationality of it, does not erase it. Everyone has someone for the holiday, everyone has something to do, and she and she alone does not.)

As best she can, she does not let on that she is feeling this way, thinking such a thing, because she does not want to, does not want to foist that upon any of the others, yes, but most importantly does not want to reveal that she feels this way. It feels childish, to her, and she is not a child any longer, is an adult who should know better, who should not care about a holiday for a religion she does not worship, or sentimentality designed to sell items. But care she does.

If she is more subdued than usual, then she can dismiss that as exhaustion, as tiredness after having celebrated her own holiday, having, as always, been the one to organize it for everyone on base, cooking and cleaning and decorating as needed, and having people in she and Fareeha’s quarters for it, every evening, when normally she is the sort who needs time and space to herself, after a long day of work. No one will question that, surely, and it is not entirely a lie.

If she clings to Fareeha more securely, at night, wraps herself around her partner tightly, and does not let go until Fareeha insists, in the morning, that she has to be released to go for her morning run, then that, too, she can try to brush off. The weather is changing, now, is colder, and Fareeha is always so very, very warm. Could she hold her lover so closely in the summer months, she would, but that is far too sweaty an endeavor. This, too, is true.

If she does not join in in discussions about Christmas, then that, too, is not abnormal. She does not celebrate, never has, and no one will question that. Surely no one will notice that this year, not only is she not participating in such conversations, but is actively avoiding them. Why would they notice? And if they do, why would they think anything of it? Christmas is not hers to celebrate, and she has no interest in it, besides, never has.

Yet for all of her efforts, something in her demeanor must give her away, because Fareeha does notice that something is wrong, tells Angela as much as they are lying down for sleep, three days before she is to leave.

“Penny for your thoughts?” asks she, and Angela, lying with her cheek pressed to Fareeha’s chest, can feel the words vibrate against her.

“Hmm?” Angela was, in fact, deep in thought, and at first does not know what Fareeha is asking—and does not want to tell her anything about how she is feeling about the impending holiday, if Fareeha has not caught on.

Fareeha moves to sit up, propping herself up on her elbows, forcing Angela, too, to move, to sit fully up beside her partner and cede her place atop her. It is better for serious conversation, perhaps, but much less comfortable.

“I know something’s bothering you, Angela,” Fareeha tells her, voice more serious than it was even a minute ago, and far more serious than when they were getting dressed for bed, Fareeha jesting about the events of the day, and Angela trying to laugh in the appropriate places. “You’re not _that_ good at hiding your feelings. Not around me.”

“I’m not hidi—” Angela starts to protest, for she is not hiding, really, is only trying to be consider it, not to impose upon Fareeha with what it is she is thinking, feeling.

Unfortunately, Fareeha is not buying that, interrupts before Angela can even finish her sentence, “You are. You’ve been quiet for the last half week, and I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” Angela tells her, and really, she ought to have insisted. Yes, she is feeling a little lonely, a little sad, a little inadequate, given that Fareeha has not invited her to spend the holiday in Canada with her and Sam, but that is nothing worth worrying over, is only her being irrationally sad about a holiday she does not even celebrate. Plenty of things are worth worrying over, but not that, surely.

At this, Fareeha sits up further, puts a hand on Angela’s thigh, looks at her too seriously, in a way that makes Angela want nothing more than to look away, “I am worried, though. I care about you, and if something’s wrong—I don’t want to leave you alone here without us at least talking about it.”

“It isn’t anything serious,” Angela says, admitting, before she has time to think about it, that there _is_ something bothering her. “I mean—I’ll be fine. There isn’t anything to worry about, really.”

(She means that. Her own feelings of inadequacy, of loneliness, those are her responsibility, are not for Fareeha to fix, or to guide her through. But she knows, too, that I their positions were reversed, she, too, would worry, and would be perhaps even more insistent than Fareeha is being right now that they talk about it. What Fareeha is feeling is not so unreasonable, and she knows better than to brush it off, knows that Fareeha is just showing that she cares. Yet, despite, that, there really is nothing to worry about. She will be melancholy for a week, but then everything will return to normal, her friends will all be home, and she will be over it, will be back to her normal self.)

“ _Angela_ ,” Fareeha says, “I’m already worried. Telling me not to doesn’t help.” There is something chiding in her tone, too, an assertion, unvoiced, that both of them know that Fareeha has earned her trust, earned honesty from Angela.

But Angela is not being dishonest. She simply does not want to tell Fareeha lest she impose.

After a moment to consider, Angela looks back towards Fareeha, and tells her the truth, if a simplified version of it: “I don’t want to ruin your holiday with your father.”

She does not, that is true, but, “You’re not coming, though?” Fareeha is understandably confused.

“I _know_ ,” says Angela, and it comes off sharper than she intended, but she does know, is very, very aware of the fact that, for whatever reason, she is not welcome there, and Fareeha has not even bothered to tell her why. That is Fareeha’s choice, yes, but she does not need to be reminded of it, to be told, again, that she is not good enough, somehow, to spend the holiday with, that she would be a burden, “I just meant that I don’t want to tell you, and for you to be thinking about it while you’re with him. I want you to have a nice vacation.”

(This, at least, does not sound bitter, sounds sincere, for it is. Upset as she is that she is not invited, that three years together have not made her worthy, in Fareeha’s eyes, of taking home to meet her father, that does not mean she wishes Fareeha ill. She could never. Even without her, she wants Fareeha to be happy—and if her not being there is a part of Fareeha’s happiness, then so be it. Yes, it stings, but she loves Fareeha, she does, wants her to enjoy herself as much as possible.)

“Okay…” Fareeha says, draws the word out, between the syllables, _ohh-kaaaay,_ in a way that makes it clear that she noticed Angela’s tone, there, knows that there is something amiss, “I appreciate,” says she, “You not wanting to mess up my time with Dad. But I’m already going to be worried anyway, and this isn’t helping. We might as well discuss it.”

Most of the time, Angela is grateful that Fareeha is so good at communicating, so ready to discuss anything between them, so that Angela does not have to worry about them staying angry with one another, or drifting apart because of some issue, unaddressed. Most of the time, Angela appreciates her partner’s directness, because it has helped her to become better at relying on other people, being open to them, and has forced her to confront her feelings, rather than running from them. Most of the time, Angela thinks it a good thing that Fareeha is insistent that they talk with one another about their feelings, often and clearly, because it means, too, that Angela can take care of Fareeha, when she needs to, means that she knows for sure when Fareeha needs comfort from her, or needs space, and she does not have to worry about misreading the situation, can do what is the best for both of them without accidentally making the problem worse.

Right now, however, Angela is wishing that Fareeha would let something slide, just this once, would let her say _It can wait_ , so that they can talk about it after Fareeha gets back, and Fareeha will not think or feel that Angela is trying to pressure her into an invite—because that is the last thing Angela wants, to go, and to be an imposition.

(And, just as bad, to go, and to not be wanted.)

But Fareeha wants honesty from her, so honest she shall be. “It’s going to be lonely,” says she, “That’s all. Everyone off-base for a week.”

“Not everyone,” Fareeha says, because it is true, Ana and Jack will be there.

“You know I love you,” Angela says, “And I know you love her. But _please_ don’t suggest that I’m going to enjoy spending time with your mother and Jack.” Both of them know well how Angela feels about Jack, at least, if not Ana. 

(As much as she can, Angela avoids discussing with Fareeha her mother, because she does not want to hurt that relationship, does not want to put Fareeha in an awkward position, between two of the people she cares about most. A relationship with one’s parents is a precious thing. Far be it from Angela to interfere with that.)

A moment to consider, and then Fareeha agrees, “That’s fair.” Another pause and then, “I don’t think I’d want to be stuck here with the two of them either.”

“Would anyone?” asks Angela. They are good people, they are, Ana and Jack, are loyal to a fault, but they are also very stubborn, and set in their ways, and not at all easy to deal with, not two-on-one. 

“I suppose not,” Fareeha says, with a little laugh, “No. But you don’t have to stay here, you know. I’m sure Genji and Zenyatta would be happy to have you along. They’re not doing Christmas either.”

“ _Really_?” Angela temporarily forgets herself, and any intent she might have had of not making a big deal out of this goes out the window, her annoyance at the suggestion clear. Fareeha will not invite her, after three years together, to meet her father, and thinks Angela would be just as happy with Genji and Zenyatta?

(Angela likes Genji, she does, is very fond of him, in fact, considers him a dear friend, and has for years. Zenyatta, however, grates on her, despite her respect for him. He does good work, has good intentions, and Angela knows, that she does, but he _also_ is in the habit of answering one question with another, which frustrates Angela to no end. When she asks him how he is able to heal people, she wants to know because it could be useful in helping others, and she needs to assess how reliable his abilities are in the field. She is _not_ trying to be prompted to explore her own relationship with the Iris, or consider her own belief system. Philosophy is meaningless to Angela. Enlightenment cannot give a child back their parents—saving lives is the higher pursuit. And when Genji and Zenyatta are together, that is all they seem to want to discuss, philosophy.)

“It was just a suggestion,” Fareeha says, “If you’d rather be alone…”

“I wouldn’t.”

Deeply, Fareeha sighs, “Then what _do_ you want? I’m not staying here.”

Now, Angela is truly frustrated, “I didn’t ask you to!” she starts to raise her voice, then stops herself. Fareeha does not like to be yelled at, and she can be just as firm in what she is saying without doing so, particularly so late at night. “If you’ll recall, it was _you_ who asked me why I was upset. I didn’t want to talk about it, because I didn’t want you to feel like you’re responsible for me feeling lonely. You’re not, and you aren’t, and that’s that.”

A pause, and Angela thinks that maybe, this is over, and they can go to sleep, now, forget all about this, and go about their lives. Bad enough, that she has to admit to feeling like this, to being lonely, and for such a childish reason—because other people are celebrating a holiday, and she is not. Worse, still, that now she has let herself get angry about it, when she does not want to fight with Fareeha, only wants her to be happy. This? This is not what she intended, is the opposite, in fact, because she knows that now, no matter how this is resolved, Fareeha will think about it, while she is gone, will know that not only is Angela unhappy, but that she did not want to discuss the matter.

That will bother Fareeha more, of the two things, the unwillingness to have a conversation about her feelings. Inevitably, Fareeha will think it is because Angela did not feel comfortable discussing it, and not because of the truth: that she does not want to impose, does not want to make Fareeha think that she _has_ to do something, for Angela’s sake.

“I know,” Fareeha finally says, “But I still don’t want to make you unhappy.”

“I’m sorry,” Angela says, when another few moments pass and still, Fareeha does not say anything. “You’re not making me unhappy by going. Me feeling lonely is—” She is not going to say it is not important, because it does feel important that Fareeha so clearly does not want her to come along, but she still is not going to bring that up. “It’s not the issue, here. I can deal with that on my own, and I should, because I don’t _want_ you to feel responsible,” and that is true. She just wants for Fareeha to have a happy Christmas, to enjoy her time with her father and to return feeling better for having gone away. After all, Fareeha has been talking about needing a vacation since last year, and has yet to do so, yet to go, has worked practically non-stop for the past two years.

(Part of that, Angela is certain, is the result of Ana’s return. Fareeha wants, clearly, to prove to her mother that she is a worthy successor, that she is just as able to lead Overwatch as those who came before her, is better. Even if they have reconciled, now, or are in the process of doing so, of redefining their relationship after all that has happened, Fareeha still feels the need to prove that Ana was wrong, all those years ago, to show that she is suited to working with Overwatch, and can do it _happily_ besides, can have everything Ana never had: partner, a career, and her health, all at once. So she has worked far, far too hard, in order to prove that she can, and Angela can see it, even if no one else can, and she hopes that these ten days off will be good for Fareeha, will be the break that she needs, so she can come back feeling just a bit more relaxed, and reenergized, and able, again, to do everything at once. If Angela were the one to ruin that for Fareeha, she knows already she could not forgive herself.)

“What is the issue then?” Fareeha asks, because the both of them know each other well enough, by now, to tell when the other is talking around something. Angela said that Fareeha leaving was not the issue, that her feelings of loneliness were not, and that is true. Yet it must not have escaped Fareeha’s notice that she never mentioned what was bothering her.

“Nothing that we can’t wait to discuss until after you’re back,” Angela insists, and keeps talking even when Fareeha starts to object, “I want you to go,” says she to Fareeha, “And I want you to enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”

“Don’t worry,” Fareeha insists, “I’m not cancelling on Dad. I’d just feel better knowing what all this was about.”

That, Angela has no good answer for, because her excuse for not discussing the matter—that she does not want to make harder Fareeha’s trip—is not helpful, now, if Fareeha is going to be worrying about this while she is gone. Yet, still, Angela does not know how to phrase her concerns without making them sound like an accusation, or a request, as if Fareeha _should_ bring her along. Such is not the case; she knows she is not entitled to go along with Fareeha simply because they are together, knows that Fareeha’s family is her own, and her relationships with them complicated. 

All Angela wants is to know why she is not invited, so that she can stop worrying about it. Maybe there is something she could be doing better, something she said wrong that upset Fareeha’s father, or some other reason entirely why she ought not to come along, but she just would like to know, so that she can change her behavior, if she has to, or accept that this is not something that is going to be a part of their life as a couple, family vacations. 

(She wants, too, to feel wanted, but that, she knows, she cannot demand. If Fareeha does not want her there, then that is that, and she will accept it, only wishes Fareeha would say as much, so she could stop worrying that this is her fault, somehow, that she is not good enough to be invited.)

“Can we talk about it tomorrow?” Angela finally asks. “We’re both tired and I don’t—I’m not sure, yet, how to discuss this.

“Alright,” Fareeha acquiesces. “Tomorrow. But don’t think I’ll forget.”

“I know you won’t,” Angela says, because Fareeha never does forget such things.

Another little pause, wherein they sit there, unsure, now, of what to do. For her part, Angela does not think she will be sleeping so easily now.

“Can I hold you?” Fareeha asks, and, when Angela nods in agreement, pulls Angela in towards her, until they are again both lying down, Angela’s head on Fareeha’s chest. “I love you,” says she, “You know that, right?”

When answering this, at least, Angela does not hesitate. “I know you do,” she promises. Even if she feels a bit unwanted, right now, she knows that she is not unloved. “And I love you, too.”

Nothing else is said that night, and maybe nothing needs to be. Again, Angela lets herself be consumed by her thoughts until, at last, the steady beat of Fareeha’s heart and the slow rise and fall of her chest lulls her to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hewwo im here on time and under budget which frankly, thank fuck, bc i forgot i had to do some bullshit tonight for like. so many hours. but fortunately i wrote this all last night even tho id planned to write it today, so we (me) have rights

Worrying is in Fareeha’s nature. Oh, she is confident, certainly, in herself and in her abilities, does not worry before a mission, or during it, does not doubt herself even once, knows well what she is capable of, what she can do, and what she needs to. But for other people? Fareeha worries, and worries often. In that way, she will admit, she is much like her mother, feels the need to protect those to whom she is close.

Angela is, naturally, such a one. 

Does Angela need to be protected? That is debatable. Certainly, she survived well enough before Fareeha came into her lie, but that does not mean that she is not better off for having Fareeha in her life, does not mean that Fareeha thinks, sometimes, that Angela would do better elsewhere, would be happier in a different sort of life than this one, one which is gentler.

(Fareeha would too, she knows, and it is not only her who looks out for Angela. In turn, Angela takes care of her, too, soothes her nightmares, watches that she sleeps enough, and eats right, encourages her to work on her relationship with her mother, and helps Fareeha, too, on the difficult nights when she does not know how much of herself is who she is, and how much of it is whom she has made herself to be, in order to please others. Perhaps they would both do better in another life, but this is not that life, is not that world, and having one another will have to suffice.)

So when Angela is upset, Fareeha worries. Not in the way Angela worries about her—concerned with her very _life_ —but Fareeha worries about Angela’s happiness, worries that she will find herself melancholy, again, and have trouble navigating her way out of it, particularly left here all alone. Fareeha does not want to leave her here, unhappy, does not want to worry, while she is gone, that Angela will let this spiral into something greater than it is, and be impacted by it still in the weeks and months to come.

(They skate around it, the issue of mental health. Fareeha would like to be more open, would like to encourage Angela to be more honest, too, by doing so, but she is too much her mother’s daughter, and is afraid of what it would mean, to truly discuss such things. What she does know about Angela’s history is enough to worry her, however, even when Angela insists that she is much better, now than she used to be, much happier.)

If she worries, then, it is not unreasonable, she thinks, is, in fact, perfectly normal. She and Angela are partners, now, will be so for the foreseeable future, and although her happiness is not wholly contingent on Angela’s, it hurts her, to see that the woman she loves is hurting, and she wants to be able to—not fix that, because some things are unfixable, but—make it better, as best she can, to do what it is Angela needs from her to make times like this a little easier.

But, of course, not knowing what is wrong with Angela, Fareeha cannot do anything, can only invite her to talk, remind her that it hurts Fareeha, too, her silence, that they are a unit, now, are a couple, and the needs of one of them spill over to the other. 

Eventually, Angela caves. Always. 

If not for herself, Angela will speak to help Fareeha feel better, to reassure her that _It’s nothing_ , or _I’m just being stupid._ Fareeha does not agree with either of those assessments, thinks it is clearly something, is not stupid, to be hurt. Certainly, Fareeha finds herself upset often enough for reasons that she finds embarrassing, such as when someone compliments her by comparing her to Ana, and she wonders, for the next few days, if people only like her because she is her mothers’ daughter, only think her capable because she rides the coattails of her mother’s legacy. In those times, Angela helps to put things in perspective for her, reminds Fareeha that she is loved just as she is, and that there are things she is good at that her mother never has been, talents she has that Ana does not, ways in which she is better, proving she is only _different_ , not some inferior model.

For Fareeha to do the same in return for Angela is only natural, and it does not bother her in the least, so long as she can get Angela to talk.

Sometimes, that is harder than others.

When she can, she waits, lets Angela come to her, and hopes that, by so doing, she will make the conversation easier, but other times, Angela would be perfectly happy to avoid an issue for the rest of her life. Such is an impulse Fareeha understands, but having grown up with Ana she knows, too, that avoiding an issue never did anyone any favors, and she does not want to live with that again, the pain of it, the way things fester in silence. Once was enough.

On the occasions that she has to, Fareeha is not above reminding Angela of such.

Usually, she does not jump straight to that, however, unless the issue is truly a pressing one. Even now, with the impending deadline of her flight, only a day and a half away, Fareeha does not want to guilt Angela into speaking, reserves that sort of thing only for when it is true, and Angela’s silence is genuinely hurting her, too. All she will do, for now, is prod Angela gently, impress upon her the fact that not speaking does not solve anything, and that they will both feel better if only this can be addressed, and not been left to gnaw at them for the ten days they are apart.

In the morning, they do not speak of it, not immediately. That, Fareeha thinks is fair, for Angela has not truly had time to think about how best to phrase whatever it is that is bothering her, having been rather busy with sleeping. Such conversations are best not had half-awake, in any case.

When Fareeha goes on her run, she does her best not to worry, tries to focus on something, anything else. Even if they do not discuss this, even if she is worried, Angela has reassured her that this is not too serious, and she has to trust her partner to be honest about that, has to trust that Angela knows, by now, that Fareeha wants to know serious things, and wants to be able to help, can no more be happy sitting idly by than Angela herself can. If Angela is being honest—and Fareeha has no reason to suspect that she would lie about this, for she does her best to be open, now, even when it is painful, on the agreement that Fareeha will do so in return for her—then this is not something that she need worry about, not seriously, is something that can wait until after she returns from her father’s.

Fareeha is trying to be better at accepting that sort of answer from Angela at times, to accept that just because someone does not want to discuss something _right now_ does not mean that they are hiding something, or avoiding it. Sometimes, people simply need time to think. That is fair.

In all things, Fareeha tries to be fair, but it is so very hard. Angela’s needs and her own are not always the same, and she worries that as the more vocal of the two of them, she sometimes pushes too hard. Angela needs pushing, yes, but Fareeha could do, too, to be more patient, could do to be more trusting. Her own worrying about others should not mean that she thinks she has the right to compel them to speak, should not mean that they do not have a right to their own privacy. This, she knows, and this she is working on.

If she and Angela do not talk about this before she leaves, she will not let it make her miserable, will not make her own happiness dependent upon that, will not allow her worrying to ruin her time with her father. She is determined to ensure that is so. 

(This is something Angela wants for her, she knows. They have discussed it before, that their happiness not be too contingent upon one another. Angela wants Fareeha to be happy, even when she herself is sad, and that is a hard thing for Fareeha to accept, and harder still is the suggestion that she should not allow herself to worry, if it interferes with the rest of her life. Worrying about the people she loves is a part of her nature, makes her such a good commander, and to not do so feels strange. But she will try, she will, for Angela is right—it is healthier, if she can be happy, even when those she cares about are not. She wants the same for Angela, too, does not want Angela to feel as lost as she does, on those days when it is difficult for her to parse where _Pharah_ ends and _Fareeha_ begins.)

So she makes it through the day, and she does not worry, even when Angela texts her ten minutes before lunch, and informs her that she will not be able to make it, that a medical emergency has cropped up. Such is often enough the case, and even if she does suspect that Angela might be stalling for time, she will not press.

No matter what Angela wants to talk to her about, she will be happy, when she visits her dad. This she promises to herself. It is what Angela wants for her, and what she wants for herself, and certainly what her father wants, for the two of them to have a nice holiday, to enjoy one another’s company, to try and pretend that they are like any other normal family, ignoring the ghost of her mother together. 

Neither her partner nor her mother will ruin this for her, because her relationship with her father is important to her, too. He is perhaps not as central a figure in her life but he loves her, too, has always been there for her when she needs him.

This is all easy to say, to think, but when dinner rolls around, and Angela is sitting silently across from her, avoiding all eye contact, Fareeha finds that it is hard not to worry. 

Is Angela angry with her? She certainly seemed agitated last night, even if Fareeha cannot think of what it is she has done. That might explain how thoroughly Angela is avoiding this, too, because she does not like to be angry, not with Fareeha, does not like to let herself feel anything like that towards the people she loves. 

But no, Angela was sad, before they spoke, has been distant, has been withdrawn. When she is angry, her avoidance is a different sort, is a careful assertion that she needs space until she has calmed down, and can discuss rationally what it is she is feeling.

(That is how they have always done things, after the first argument. It is far better for the both of them.)

Through dinner, they do not exchange more than a handful of words. Fareeha will say something, and Angela, although she will not brush her off, is evidently still thinking very deeply about something else, and answers distractedly. It is awkward to sit in silence, however, so Fareeha keeps trying.

(With her mother, silence meant that she was trying to draw something out of Fareeha, a confession, or an apology. Her silence was never meant to be cruel, but sniping taught Ana patience, the kind that many people lack, and she could have waited forever for Fareeha to speak, were it necessary. So now, as an adult, Fareeha tries to fill silence, because she still feels, even now, that such is what is expected of her, is what she ought to be doing, speaking.)

Eventually, there is a lull, however, when Fareeha runs out of things to say, and then, and only then, does Angela speak. Carefully, she sets down her fork, places her utensils in such a way as to indicate she is done eating, takes a sip of water, and dabs at her mouth, as if to clean it, although it was not dirty to begin with, before, still not looking at Fareeha, staring into the middle distance, down and to the side of where Fareeha sits, she says, “I don’t want you to misunderstand.”

More silence, then.

“That’d be awfully hard,” Fareeha then points out, “Since you haven’t said anything.”

“I know,” Angela answers her, evidently not appreciating the attempt at levity. “It’s only that—it’s hard to phrase this. I don’t want you to think that I want something from you, or that I’m imposing by bringing up the fact that I want this.”

Normally, Fareeha might reach out to Angela at a time like this, might put a hand atop hers, in an attempt to calm her down, remind her that she will not be angry, but with the way Angela is sitting, hands folded in her lap, legs tucked under her chair, there is no way to easily do so, across the table.

Instead, Fareeha settles for stating the obvious, “Considering how reluctant you’ve been to discuss this, I don’t think I could possibly feel pressured into anything.”

Saying such is practically tempting fate, Fareeha knows, but with Angela, she will take her chances.

A small hum from Angela, considering, and not quite agreeing. “I wouldn’t be so certain,” says she, but of course, Angela is never certain, when it comes to interpersonal matters, and Fareeha too often is.

Another pause, and Fareeha does her best not to speak simply for the sake of filling the silence. Angela broached the topic, tonight, so clearly she is going to speak about it, is only searching for the words. When she has to be, Fareeha can be patient.

“Your Christmas with your father is, of course, your own,” Angela starts. “And I don’t want to intrude on that by—"

“Wait,” Fareeha says, “What?” Her father? Angela and he have never even met, so she does not know how he could be involved in anything. And Angela, not one for celebrating Christmas, could not possibly intrude.

“Please let me finish,” Angela says, and it is not a command, but it does have that uncomfortable edge of desperation to it. Fareeha does her best to be silent, again, nods that Angela ought to continue. “As I was saying, I don’t want you to feel like you should have to invite me, because it’s your choice whether or not you want me there.”

Again, Fareeha wants to interrupt, _Want her there?_ Angela hates Christmas! Fareeha would be delighted if that were not the case, but she knows already how here partner feels about the holiday and thought an invite would be culturally insensitive, at best. 

“But,” Angela continues. “We have been together for more than two and half years, now. And while it’s certainly up to you when or if you are going to introduce me to your father, I just—I wish you’d _tell_ me, if I’m doing something wrong, or if you don’t want me to meet him. I don’t like not knowing why you—it bothers me, to not know why. I’m not going to try and convince you otherwise, I just want to know the reason.”

“But I only see my dad for Christmas?” Fareeha is confused. Very confused. She is hardly avoiding introducing Angela and her father, has wanted to do so since before they were even properly a couple, because Angela matters to her, and her father does, too. She wants him to feel included in her life, and wants Angela to be included in her family, too. But, again, she only sees Sam for Christmas, and she knows how her partner feels about that.

If she had time to visit in the summer, she would, would take Angela along with her.

“ _Yes_ ,” says Angela, rather pointedly, “And you’re leaving on that trip the day after tomorrow.”

After a moment to think, Fareeha is no closer to understanding the problem than she was before. “I am,” says she, “But—I don’t understand. You don’t want an invite to Christmas, do you?”

(Even Fareeha could do without Christmas, honestly. It was nice enough, getting presents when she was a child, but she has always felt more connected to her mother’s faith, and the holiday itself holds no special meaning for her. What she likes is spending time with her father.)

“It would be nice,” Angela says, and then, quickly, “But you don’t have to invite me! That isn’t what this is about, really. I just want to know if—if this is what I can expect, moving forwards. Not knowing your father.”

“Of course I want you to meet my dad,” Fareeha reassures her, and means it. Now that they have begun to acknowledge, if only tacitly, that this relationship is going to continue for the foreseeable future, that they are committed to one another in a very real and long-term way, Fareeha very much wants for her father to have the chance to meet the woman she intends to spend as much of her life with as possible. Clearly, Angela is on the same page, in terms of her feelings about their commitment to one another, if the phrasing of _moving forwards_ is any indication. Fareeha knows better than to ask Angela to marry her, but they are very committed to one another, nonetheless, and since Angela is going to be a part of her life for a long time to come, her father deserves the chance to meet her. There is only one problem, “I just thought you weren’t comfortable celebrating Christmas?”

Angela frowns, then, “Why would I be uncomfortable? I’m more than used to Christmas happening, by now. Strangers assuming everyone celebrates is annoying, sure, but I’ve spent Christmas with the Lindholms enough times to know that an invite from friends isn’t an attempt at proselytization.”

What she says makes sense, of course, is in fitting with her typical habit of simply not participating in Christmas related activities, but never complaining when they occur around base, it is only that, “You told Brigitte you wouldn’t be going, when she asked you.”

“Ah,” says Angela, “You heard that?”

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” Fareeha says, and that is true. She was getting changed in their bedroom when Brigitte stopped by to deliver the invite, and happened to overhear the ensuing conversation only because Angela was _very firm_ when declining.

(An understatement. Despite her habit of swearing under her breath to herself when something goes awry, or she stubs her toe, or is running late, Angela very, very rarely curses at other people. This was one of those times. Although Fareeha could not hear what it was Brigitte said, she heard, very loud and clear, _You know damn well why I’m not going to be there!_ )

“I’m sorry,” says Angela, as if it were Fareeha she had been cross with. “That really… it has nothing to do with Christmas.”

“No?” What else could it possibly have been about?

“I did decline a Christmas invitation, yes,” Angela agrees, “But not because of the holiday. I just don’t feel safe there.”

Of all the things Fareeha expected to hear, that was not it. “Don’t feel _safe_?” asks she. “Is there something I should know? Did Torbjörn—did he do something?”

(As commander, it is Fareeha’s job to ensure that everyone is safe, her place to oversee conflicts, to ensure that this is as healthy an environment as possible for them all to work in. If somehow something escaped her notice, and something involving _Angela_ , at that—she does not want to think about it.)

“No,” Angela says quickly, “No, nothing like that. It’s just,” she pauses, for a moment, as if to collect herself, and when she speaks again she sounds calmer, more measured, even if her tone is deadly serious, “They have a bastion unit living there now.”

“ _What_?” To the best of Fareeha’s knowledge Torbjörn distrusts omnics, and Angela—well, she does not know how Angela feels about them, exactly, but she seems to get along with most of them well enough. This scenario is, to Fareeha, a complete surprise.

“I know!” Angela says, as if it were something terrible. “I’ve told them, you know, that I can’t—that I don’t want to be around it. But they insist it’s harmless! It’s not some _pet_.” The last word, she says with considerable venom.

Frankly, Fareeha is taken aback. “I thought you liked omnics,” says she. Her own feelings are complicated, certainly, by having grown up during the Crisis, but she thought for certain that Angela, who is close to Lena and Genji both, surely was a supporter of more expansive omnic rights.

“I do,” Angela says, “In _theory._ But a bastion unit? I don’t want to—they say it’s fine. They’ve promised me it won’t hurt anyone, won’t hurt me. It isn’t that I don’t trust Torbjörn’s judgement,” she says, although her tone certainly indicates otherwise, “It’s only that—I couldn’t relax, knowing it’s there.”

“So it’s just bastions?” Fareeha wants to clarify this, now, if only so she does not have to worry about bringing it up again, later. Most bastion units have been out of commission since the Crisis ended, so if it is only them, then this is unlikely to become a problem, in the future, the ear that Angela so clearly feels even discussing the matter.

“Yes,” Angela says, “Only them. It isn’t even that it’s a bastion specifically. This one came from outside Eichenwalde, Fareeha.”

Unfortunately, Fareeha knows she is missing some significance, here. Eichenwalde was where Reinhardt’s fellow Crusaders died, so she knows from the stories, but she did not think Angela had any ties to the place, “I’m going to need you to elaborate,” says she.

“They came there from Switzerland,” Angela says, and then, Fareeha understands. “They swept up north, from the Alps to Zürich, and then onward to Germany. It isn’t just _any_ bastion, Fareeha. It might’ve—I mean, I have no way of knowing, and I doubt it does either, doubt they would have mattered, to it, enough to be worth noticing, but, it could have been a part of the group that—that killed.” A moment, a breath, very shaky, Fareeha says nothing, because she has nothing helpful to say, here, “I just can’t be nice to it,” Angela continues. “I can’t even begin to try. I’ve done my best, you know, to move on, because being angry won’t—it only hurts me, to feel that way. I can do so much more with compassion, by caring for others. But I _can’t_ make myself be kind to this bastion. I can’t sit there at their table, and pretend nothing is wrong, as if one of the things which killed my parents isn’t sitting one room over, and I won’t—I won’t try to, either.”

“I understand,” Fareeha says, moves to cup one of Angela’s cheeks.

“You don’t,” Angela says, sharply, and perhaps that is true. Fareeha lost relatives in the Crisis, too, a handful of uncles, a cousin or two, but she never really knew any of them, and was always kept far away from the front lines. What it is like to lose someone, like that, she does not know. Even when she thought her mother died, it was different, was as a soldier, and because she chose not to obey orders. What it was to go through Angela’s childhood, she will never know. “And I don’t want you to, because I hate it. I hate that I’m still angry, all these years later, and I hate that I’ll never know for sure, what it did, because the people it killed didn’t matter, to it, _my parents didn’t matter._ I wish I could get over it, because it’s been thirty years, wish that I could, if not forgive, at least accept what happened, but I can’t. I can’t, and I won’t, and it isn’t tenable, me being there, seeing it and being reminded that I’ll never be the person I could’ve been, that that life was stolen from me while it—it gets to play with children, and whistle at birds! My father loved birds, used to keep a book to record all the ones he saw, every year, and he’s dead, and _it_ gets to befriend the birds, now, has one that nests on its head. It isn’t right, and it isn’t fair.”

“I’m sorry,” Fareeha says, when at last she is certain Angela is finished, “I didn’t mean to imply that I thought… I know I don’t understand what that’s like. I just meant that your decision makes sense.”

“I’m sorry too,” Angela says, sniffing, “I don’t like to talk about feeling like this.”

“That is…” Fareeha almost says understandable, again, “Very reasonable.”

(Fareeha, too, does not like being made to feel angry, hated when her mother reappeared here, in Overwatch, because suddenly she could not avoid those feelings anymore, could not push them away, was forced to confront her anger, her bitterness, all the parts of herself she did not like, while most of the others accepted Ana back with open arms. It is not the same, particularly given that Fareeha loves her mother, despite their differences, but she knows a bit of where Angela is coming from. Wanting to feel differently, to react in a way she thinks would be better, more acceptable, is far from foreign to here. But feelings are not so easily changed.)

“Yes," Angela says, “I think so, too. But Torbjörn and Ingrid don’t—they were lucky, during the Crisis.”

Unspoken go the words _As were you._

A pause, then, and when Fareeha is certain she has given Angela enough time to calm down, again, to push away her anger, like she so clearly wants to, she says, “So if it’s not Christmas you mind…?”

“It isn’t,” Angela affirms.

“Then I don’t suppose you’d mind joining me at Dad’s?” This is a bad time to ask, she knows, and a bad way to, but she only has so much time left before she leaves, and she does not want Angela to miss the opportunity to go with her, if that is something she would like.

Rather than the quick yes Fareeha is expecting, Angela takes a deep breath, and a moment to consider. “You’re not just asking me because of this, are you?”

“No,” Fareeha says, “Of course not. I meant to ask you before—well, before what I overheard.” Probably, it is for the best to not bring up the specifics of that, right now. Both of them know what she means, and Angela has only just managed to stop herself from crying.

Still, no quick yes. “I’d like to go,” says Angela, “But it’s very late to accept. I don’t want to cause your father any trouble.” A little laugh, then, “I’m afraid I’ve already missed my chance at making a good first impression on your mother, so I really had better not mess this one up.”

“My mom loves you,” Fareeha says, and when Angela gives her a doubting look adds, “Really, she does! She can’t stand arguing with you, sure, and thinks you’re too idealistic for your own good, but she _is_ fond of you.” 

“Fareeha,” Angela says, tone exasperated, even if she is smiling a little, now, despite herself.

“I mean it!” Fareeha says, and to the best of her knowledge, it is true, “And in any case, I wouldn’t worry about Dad. He’s the one who originally told me to invite you, and he’s a _lot_ easier to please than Mum.”

“That isn’t hard,” Angela points out, and Fareeha has no argument against that.

“So it’s settled, then?” asks she. “You’re coming with me?”

“If your father says I’m still welcome,” Angela says, “Then yes, please.”

“Good,” Fareeha says, “Now go wash your face, I’ll clean up dinner.” Usually, they wash the dishes together, but Angela’s mascara has run, and she always seems to be congested, after crying, so Fareeha is certain that she will want to blow her nose. 

In any case, Fareeha needs a moment to herself, after all that. Now, she need not worry, any longer, and Angela was right—the cause of her worry about the holiday was not something life-threatening, after all---but the conversation itself was not a pleasant one, not when she had to consider such things as they discussed, and she needs a moment, before she is back to her usual smiling self, needs a moment to process, and to think.

(This was a good conversation to have, it was, because now Fareeha need not worry about Angela while she is gone, need not even be apart from her at all, but just because a thing is useful, just because it allays a worry, does not mean that it is easy. As often as Angela reminds Fareeha that she is not responsible for her happiness, Fareeha still wishes she could do something, to take away that pain. It is a fruitless thought, and one she knows she will always struggle to accept, just as Angela struggles to accept that Fareeha, too, has hurts she cannot heal. A moment alone will do her some good, while she tries not to show how much it hurts her, thinking of what her partner went through as a child.)

But only a moment. 

After all, she still has to call her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a v long explanation as to why this bit w angela makes sense in the context of 1) her voicelines in uprising and 2) geography but ill spare u all that. in short its pretty clear that although she has hope that omnics and humans can learn to live in peace she doesnt view them as being the same as humans (or even experiencing emotions in the same way), and maybe wants that more for the sake of people than omnics. which like, she did kinda survive omnics attempting to wipe out humanity when she was a child so... fair?
> 
> anyway, like i said, it gets happier after this. much fluffier. and more abt how fareeha feels abt all this... once shes had time to process it. and more abt fareeha in general, since a lot of this does involve her childhood home LMAO
> 
> hopefully ill be back on time monday but i might be a little late bc im gonna be @ pax unplugged thurs-sun so... u know. ill try.
> 
> have a good rest of ur day


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i have a REALLY GOOD reason for not updating last week, being that my laptop charger was several states away... i left it at a con ;___; so i couldnt possibly update since i couldnt get on my damn laptop where i had all my progress
> 
> and THEN when i got my charger mailed back to me (thursday) i decided i hated what id written and had to rewrite a bunch
> 
> anyway to make up for it im updating m/w/f/sun this wk, and then m/w next wk

What Angela expected her first meeting with Fareeha’s father to be like, she cannot say. Part of that may be the fact that she scarcely had time to consider it, given the last minute nature of her invitation to join him and Fareeha for the holidays, but even when she is done packing, all in a rush, and doing what she can to clear all of the tasks she intended to accomplish while everyone else is away, even when Fareeha is sleeping beside her on the plane, and Angela has nothing but time to sit and think, she does not know what she ought to expect.

Perhaps this is because she has never done this—was far too young to be dating when her parents died, and before she met Fareeha, never wanted to meet the parents of anyone whom she was seeing, was not in a serious enough relationship to consider such. What is expected of her? She ought, she thinks, to have brought a gift, but did not have time to buy one, and does not know nearly enough about Sam to acquire one, besides. Generally, she knows, wine is an acceptable host gift, but even if Sam drinks, Fareeha certainly does not, and she imagines that it might be gauche, therefore, to give such a thing.

What should she expect from him? That is an even harder question, as the man Ana has described, in passing, and the man Fareeha talks about are not nearly the same, are nearly irreconcilable. Some of this may be the result of the passage of time, that Fareeha has known him better in recent years than her mother, has had more opportunities to speak with him after the Fall of Overwatch, an event which changed a good many people’s opinions about the world, but their different assessments of the man could just as easily be the result of their differing relationships with him. Whatever the source of the confusion, Angela is acutely aware of the fact that she forgot to ask a good many questions, before Fareeha fell asleep on their flight. Should she call him Sir? What _is_ his surname? What are their sleeping arrangements? Is there anything she should not talk about in front of him? Is he as strict as Ana?

Maybe, if she had an answer to any of those questions, she would be better prepared to meet him, would have a better idea of what protocol to follow, when she introduces herself, would not mess this up. Unfortunately, she did not think to ask any of these things, spent the entirety of the drive from the airport to Fareeha’s childhood home brushing up on her sign anxiously, concerned that distracting Fareeha while she drove would be dangerous, and now it is too late to ask any questions about Sam. She is meeting the man and finds she is completely clueless as to what to do, how these sorts of things are supposed to go.

Or, she will be meeting him. He is not waiting for them at the end of the driveway to his home—which, Angela is suddenly realizing, is rather _large._

“Is it just your family in the house?” Angela asks, worried, now. Fareeha did not mention anyone being here besides her father, but there are two cars here already, one in the driveway, and the other Angela notices when they pull into the garage. Surely one man does not need two vehicles.

“What?” Fareeha pauses, switches the rental car into park and then turns to Angela. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“It’s a rather big home for one person, isn’t it?” Angela sounds a bit defensive, even to herself, but it is true, the house is easily twice the size of the one she and her parents lived in, and she does not see why any one small family would need so much space. “And there are two cars.”

Fareeha frowns, “Dad needs two cars—one for the city and one for hunting and ice fishing. You can’t go off road in street tires. And the house isn’t that big,” says she, “Just two floors, a basement, and an attic. Not like we have any additions or anything.” 

“That _is_ big,” at least, it is in Angela’s eyes. There are more floors than people!

(Her own childhood home was considerably smaller. Of course, her parents had not been planning on having a baby, when they bought the home, had given up on that dream, and so they were not planning for anything more than the two of them to live there. In fact, they did not get around to converting Angela’s father’s office to a bedroom until Angela was four years old. Before that, she slept in a cot in the living room, shoved up against a wall. Now that she thinks about it, maybe Fareeha’s home _is_ average, and her own was simply small.)

“Maybe,” Fareeha says, “But does it matter?”

“No,” Angela says, “I suppose not. As long as it’s just your father…”

“It is,” Fareeha confirms, getting out of the car, before freezing halfway through closing her door, “Except—you’re not allergic to cats are you?”

“Not to my knowledge, no.” Angela, too, exits the vehicle, heads to the boot to help Fareeha retrieve their bags and carry them inside. “Does your father have cats?” 

(This should not surprise Angela to hear, perhaps, given how much Ana likes cats, but somehow, it does. Not being herself a pet person, Angela often forgets that other people are.)

With a satisfying _thump_ , Fareeha closes the car and, moving past Angela to the door to the house says, “Only Walleye.”

 _Walleye?_ Angela cannot have heard that right, but she does not have time to ask, because Fareeha is already entering the home, and all her previous anxiety about first impressions comes rushing back to her as she follows. 

What will she say? More importantly, what _should_ she say, and what will Fareeha’s father want her to say?

She thought she had some idea, before, was going to address Sam similarly to how she does Ana, and hope that the fact that they were once married would mean that their value systems were similar, but now she is unsure. Ana would _never_ have a second vehicle for something like fishing, or name a cat something so undignified as Walleye, or decorate her home as this house is decorated, carefully crafted ships in bottles on the wall of the entryway, and a wooden coat rack carved with fish.

(The color palette, however, is one Angela finds very familiar, if not the décor itself. There is warm wood, and rich, deep red accents. As they pass the kitchen, too, she notices a sign painted in Arabic, in very familiar handwriting. Perhaps she can picture Ana having lived here once, after all, but she still cannot imagine that Sam will be anything like Ana is, not from the other things she has seen.)

Unfortunately, she is out of time to think about the matter, and to plan, because there is Fareeha’s father, sitting in the living room, book in one hand and coffee mug by the other. He cannot have heard them approach, but he looks up, nonetheless, and does not seem surprised by their arrival.

“You’re early!” he signs, smile broad, and sudden, and then he says something more to her, but Angela cannot see what, hanging back in the doorway as she is, her sightline interrupted by Fareeha’s body when she drops her bag and moves to hug her father. 

What she can see from here is this: he is very tall, easily at least 20cm more so than Fareeha, and has the same straight dark hair as she, even if it is greying at the temples. His features, too, have the same sharp lines as Fareeha’s do, at the cheekbones and along his brow, although his eyes are softer in shape, rounder. Of course, she knew from photographs what he looked like already, but it is still strange for Angela to see him in the flesh, to see how he moves, and to realize, very suddenly, where so many of Fareeha’s mannerisms come from.

(That Fareeha would take after her father in some regards makes sense, he is her _father_ after all, and that is normal, Angela knows, but it is still a strange thing, to see him smile and to think that it is Fareeha’s smile, and to see that he does the same strange two pats on the back before withdrawing from a hug that Fareeha does with all of her friends. The ways in which Fareeha is similar to Ana are almost a foregone conclusion, to Angela, who knew Ana long before she ever met Fareeha, but it is a curious thing to suddenly realize that many of the things she has thought of as being her lover’s own particular idiosyncrasies might, instead, also be learned.)

Angela is still thinking of the strangeness of it when Sam breaks the hug, and Fareeha steps to the side and motions her over, “Come here,” an order, and not an invitation. 

Acutely aware of how she must look, after a long plane ride, jetlagged, in yesterday’s makeup, Angela steps forward rather reluctantly as Fareeha introduces her, says, “This is my partner, Angela,” to her father, fingerspelling her name faster than Angela herself can.

“Hi,” Angela signs, nervously, a little salute, from her temple.

“Hello,” Sam signs, and continuing much slower than he had when signing to Fareeha, “It’s nice to meet you,” and then a sign she does not recognize, a sharp f-handshape pulled down from his right shoulder, “told—”

Angela interrupts, repeats the sign as best she can, head tilted, a question, “What?”

At this, Sam laughs, signs “F-A-R-E-E-H-A,” then makes the motion again, a slight correction to the way Angela positioned her hand, before turning to Fareeha laughing, “You didn’t tell her your name?”

“I know—” Angela starts to say, before she realizes that she does not, in fact, know Fareeha’s name, not her sign one, the one with which Sam is most familiar. “I’m sorry,” she says, instead, “I should have asked.”

Or, she _tries_ to say that. Probably, it does not come across so clearly. It does not matter, for Fareeha interjects, and it is interesting, to Angela, how much clearer Fareeha’s expressions are when she signs, how much more emphatic. It is obvious that she is feeling defensive when she tells her father, “I never had to tell her! It’s not like we were signing to other people.”

A question, given the tilt of his head, “Not—” another sign that Angela does not recognize, but assumes, from the placement and a handshape, is Ana.

“Mom prefers—” yet another sign Angela does not know, but then Fareeha turns to Angela and spells it, “A-R-A-B-I-C.”

“You speak it?” Sam asks Angela.

“Badly,” she admits, “Like my ASL.”

(In fact, Angela is substantially better at Arabic than signing, having lived in Egypt for two years, but she is still less comfortable in it than English, and feels strongly that to speak in Arabic with Ana would be to give her the upper hand in any argument they will inevitably have—and her accent is bad, too.)

This amuses Sam again, “You’re not so bad,” says he, “Except for not knowing your own partner’s name.”

Probably, this is intended as light-hearted teasing, but Angela wants nothing more, in that moment, than to have another chance at a first impression. Of all the scenarios she imagined, this was decidedly not one, for she embarrassed herself before she ever had the chance to make an introduction. “I’m sorry,” she insists again, “I’m trying.”

She just is _bad_ at this, learning to sign, in a way she has rarely been bad at things. What to do with that knowledge, that failure, Angela does not know. Always, she has been a relatively successful person, and so she has never really had to experience this, trying so very hard to learn something and still finding herself coming up short—especially not something that matters as much to her as this, being able to communicate with Fareeha’s father. When she was just learning to sign because Fareeha thought she ought to, given her own tendency to not want to speak after a particularly long and stressful day, that was one thing, because if Angela could not communicate, then, that would be her own fault, but as time has gone on, and she has learned more about Fareeha’s father, learned that he is why her partner is fluent in sign, and as she has come to expect, more and more, that she and Fareeha will be in each other’s lives for some time, it has begun to _matter_ to her, that she learn.

If she cannot learn to speak to her own possible future father-in-law, what does that say about her, about her priorities? What must it look like, to him?

She does not want to be rude, or want for him to feel that he is not important, that she does not think _family_ is important.

(Bad as her relationship with Ana has been, in the past, as difficult as it is, their different perspectives on things always causing conflict, she has been trying, since Ana returned, to get along with her, if only for Fareeha’s sake. It matters more to Angela than most anything that Fareeha have a relationship with her parents, and she would not do anything to jeopardize that, or shut them out—unless Fareeha asks her to.)

“No, I’m sorry,” says he, “I meant to joke, not to make you—” another word she does not know.

“Discomfited,” Fareeha says, aloud, and then, to her father, but slow enough that Angela is sure it is for her benefit, “Small words, please.”

“Sorry,” says Sam, again, and at least that is a sign Angela is intimately familiar with. 

“It’s okay,” Angela says, and, as best she is able, “It’s my fault. I should have S-T-U-D-I-E-D more.” Had she known sooner she were coming, she would have, because she wants so very badly to make a good first impression, and although she might not know what a good first impression would have constituted, upon meeting her partner’s parent for the first time, she is certain this is not it.

Sam’s expression is kind as he tells her, “I’m sure the J-E-T-L-A-G isn’t helping,” but Angela just feels worse for hearing that, because honestly, she is this bad _always._

Fortunately, Fareeha interrupts before Angela has to say that, says out loud as she signs, “It is pretty late for us. I’m going to show Angela the guest room so she can nap before dinner if she wants to.”

That Angela has no intention of napping is not something she feels like bringing up, at the moment. What she wants is to get away from this situation as quickly as possible, and if that means feigning exhaustion, then she will do it.

However, Fareeha’s father _does_ apparently have an objection. “I still have a—” another word Angela does not know, “in that room. I thought you would sleep in your room?” He tilts his head, and his face makes it clear that the statement is, in fact a question.

“Both of us?” Fareeha asks, “In a twin bed?”

Sam says something quickly, then, too much so for Angela to understand, and from the way Fareeha reacts, clearly embarrassed, she gets the sense that she was not _meant_ to catch it.

“Dad!” says Fareeha, sign sharp, before continuing into something else Angela does not understand. She gestures to Angela during it, however, and Angela feels that she ought to interject.

“What about me?” asks she, not fond of being talked about in front of herself.

“Nothing!” Fareeha says, before her father can say anything. “Let’s go upstairs. Dad has to make dinner and we should put these bags up.”

“Okay,” Angela agrees, and signs a quick, “Nice to meet you,” to Fareeha’s father before following her partner out of the room. As soon as they are climbing the stairs, however, she hisses “What was that about?”

To her surprise, Fareeha laughs, “You don’t have to whisper,” says she. “Dad can’t hear you.”

“That isn’t an answer,” Angela points out. “He said something that upset you.”

(If she is causing an argument, she wants to know it—needs to. She wanted to come here because she thought it would be nice, meeting Fareeha’s father, but if she is a source of tension, instead, then she would rather leave, or at least stay at a hotel. Awkwardness aside, she primarily does not want to come between Fareeha and her father, thinks family too important. If things are easier without her here, then she can accept that, will.)

“He didn’t—” Fareeha starts, stops, corrects herself, “He’s just being a dad.” As she says this, she comes to a stop in front of a door just past the top of the stairs, turns to face Angela directly.

“Which means?” Obviously, Angela has no experience with fathers in the past few decades—not her own, anyway.

“It’s nothing bad. He’s just embarrassing me on purpose. _And_ ,” Fareeha is clearly trying to change the subject, as she says this, “Speaking of embarrassing, you are _not_ allowed to tell anyone back at base about this.”

Angela starts to ask about what, but before she can, Fareeha opens the door to what is obviously her childhood bedroom and suddenly, Angela understands. Clearly, the room has not been updated since Fareeha’s teenage years, and, posters for bands Angela does not recognize aside, the room is primarily decorated with memorabilia from the previous incarnation of Overwatch.

“So when you said that you had _a_ poster of Reinhardt as a child, I take it that was an understatement?” Angela cannot help but smirk at Fareeha as she says this. Pictures of him are everywhere, along with a few of Jack, Gabriel, and the others.

(Fortunately, Angela was not a prominent enough figure in the field to be on any sort of promotional material until after she built the Valkyrie suit, and that was well after Fareeha came of age. There are no pictures of her face here.)

“Don’t tell him,” Fareeha groans, “His ego’s big enough already.”

That, Angela cannot disagree with, and she lets herself be distracted by it as she looks around Fareeha’s room, examining all the personal items Fareeha has left here, the photos and sports trophies, trying to picture what sort of teenager her partner was. Certainly, a very different one from herself.

For many of the items, Fareeha offers a story, or an explanation, and they pass a good deal of time like that, until, at last, Angela’s cursory circuit of the room is complete, and she comes to sit on the bed next to Fareeha.

The bed is rather small, clearly chosen for a teenager, and not the rather tall woman Fareeha has become—let alone for herself and a lover. Angela says as much, and is rather surprised when Fareeha responds, “That’s what I told Dad!” before immediately making a face which makes clear she regrets it.

“ _This_ is what you were embarrassed about?” Angela is confused, to say the least.

“No,” Fareeha says, but she is not good at lying. “Well, not the bed size. I just thought we’d be staying in the guest room, and said it was a bit small for two people to share.”

Certain that this is not the full story, Angela prods a bit more, “I don’t see how that’s embarrassing.”

“It isn’t,” Fareeha says, “But _Dad_ said, ‘That didn’t ever stop you before,’” and her tone makes it clear that neither she nor her father meant to sleep.

“Ah,” says Angela, and then, “He thinks we’re going to—here? In his house?” That seems, to her, rather rude.

“I mean,” Fareeha says, “We _are_ going to be here for more than a week, and the holidays are usually—”

“Absolutely not!” Angela cannot believe that they are even discussing this. “We can’t make him clean sheets that we—no!”

At that, Fareeha has the nerve to laugh, “Angela,” says she, “I lived here for years. I know where the washer and dryer are.”

“And then he’ll _know_.”

“Yes,” Fareeha says, mock seriously, “He’ll know that my partner and I, women in our thirties who live together, and share a bedroom normally, have—”

“Alright!” Angela says, before Fareeha can continue. She can feel how bright red her face is already, and does not need for this to continue any longer. As it is, she has already been more than embarrassed enough for one day. “I see your point. _However_ , if you think anything is happening in this tiny bed, you are wrong.”

“And that’s why I wanted to stay in the guest room.”

“Why can’t we?” Angela asks, “I didn’t catch what your father said.” Signed? Said. Fareeha says _said_ , and so Angela will too.

Fareeha repeats the sign from before, making the sign for bed before she forms another sign in front of her chest, hands facing out, parting, and coming back together facing herself, an ovular motion.

“Yes, that word.”

“Crib,” Fareeha says.

“ _Crib_?” Angela does not dislike babies, but she did not think there would be any here, and “You said your father didn’t share this house?”

Angela’s incredulity must amuse Fareeha, who laughs, “He doesn’t,” says she, “Don’t worry. He’s just an emergency foster parent. Normally he’d break down the crib, for a guest, but I guess since he thought it’d just be me until two days ago it slipped his mind.”

Well, that makes sense, and is certainly better than learning that there is an infant here, but, “I thought he was a lawyer?”

“He is,” Fareeha confirms.

“How does he have time to—I mean, in an emergency, isn’t he busy with trials?” Fostering does not work the same way in Switzerland, but Angela still considered becoming involved with children in need to the extent that she could, once, given her own background, before being told that her hours as a surgeon precluded such.

“He doesn’t actually argue in court,” Fareeha says, “Other people he works with do that, he mostly handles things that are settled out of court.”

“I guess that would be easier than having everything interpreted,” Angela agrees.

That makes Fareeha laugh, “No,” says she, “He just doesn’t like arguing.”

If Angela were a different sort of person, she might say that such explains why he was such a good match for Ana, who is good at drawing _most_ people into arguments. Instead, what she says is, “Why become a lawyer at all?” Surely there are other jobs which involve far less arguing. 

“It’s his way of doing good,” Fareeha explains, “He deals specifically with cases pertaining to tribal interests.”

Well, that certainly makes sense to Angela, who finds that she suddenly respects Fareeha’s father far more than she did before, when all she knew was that he was a _lawyer_ , and assumed he handled something like criminal court, or divorces. Wanting to better the world, Angela can understand.

But that does leave her with a question, “That’s very important to him, then? That part of his identity?”

“Of course,” Fareeha says, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, you don’t often mention that you’re—” Angela realizes that she does not know what the proper term is, here. Certainly, there is no good term in her own native language.

“Native?” Fareeha supplies.

“Yes,” Angela says. “I wasn’t sure if that was the right term.”

“It depends on the person,” Fareeha says, “But to answer your question… it’s different, for me. Dad’s lived here his whole life. Elsewhere, most people assume I’m just Egyptian so I don’t—he experiences it differently, if that makes sense?”

“I think so,” Angela agrees, “Yes.” 

Having nothing to compare the experience to in her own life, she can only hope she understands. Unlike Fareeha, she does not have more than one heritage—as far as she is aware, her family tree is only Jewish people, as far back as civilization itself, and although she knows her parents’ families must have immigrated to Switzerland at some point, probably in either the late 1930s or the latter half of the 1940s, she does not know enough of her family history to say for certain, was not old enough yet, to wonder, when her parents died. There is no split national and cultural identity, for her, no differing heritage, from her mother and her father, is only what she has sketched in for herself, what she has extrapolated after her parents’ deaths might have been important to them, with the information she has.

So, not knowing much of her own history, and not being herself biracial, Angela knows that she cannot possibly understand what it is to grow up between two cultures, to have to try to define for herself what each of them means to her. 

There is silence, for a moment, and then when it is apparent that Fareeha is not interested in offering up more on the subject, Angela asks, “I take it your father likes children?” She is genuinely curious, not just trying to fill silence, or change topics. The mention of fostering made her curious—it is another way in which she finds that he and Ana are more alike than she initially assumed, given the latter’s tendency to ‘adopt’ all the people who serve under her.

“Oh yeah,” Fareeha says, “He loves kids. But I think…” she pauses then to consider, “He started fostering after the Crisis ended, when I was living with Mum part of the year. I think it was hard for him, going from being a single parent full time to being alone. This way, he sometimes has a kid in the house, even if it’s usually only for a night or two before a long-term placement.”

“Why not adopt?” Angela hopes that she does not sound too hurt, or too accusatory, when she asks the question, but it still upsets her, to think about, that there are people who admit they want children, and children who, like she did, need a home, but are not ever adopted, not ever brought into a family again. Some part of her will never not take it personally, will always be hurting.

A sigh from Fareeha, “It isn’t that easy, Angela. He’s deaf. Most people don’t _want_ him raising a child.”

“That isn’t—” Angela starts to say _fair_ , but she realizes that no, of course not. When has their world ever been fair? “I’m sorry.”

Mercifully, Fareeha does not say _It’s okay,_ because it is not, it really is _not_ , and it makes Angela so angry, to think about it, that children are denied loving families for such a reason, and that other people are seen as less than, simply for how they are born. She does not know if her own parents ever attempted to adopt, before they were ultimately able to have her, nearly 20 years into their marriage, but she knows they would likely have been denied because of her own father’s health, or their faith, or their income level, and it hurts her, to think that two people so loving and wonderful as her own parents were would have been so denied. They were good enough, and more than, and she cannot speak for Fareeha, does not know everything about her childhood, but from what Fareeha has said—Sam was a good father, too.

“You didn’t think about it,” Fareeha says, “It happens.”

“I’m still sorry,” says she, sorry to have forgotten, sorry to have misplaced her anger, sorry for all the children hurt by such policies.

“I know,” Fareeha tells her. “I am too.”

“Would you have wanted that?” Angela asks, “A sibling?”

A long pause, in which Fareeha considers, before she answers at last, “It’s complicated. I would’ve liked one, of course, but—it’s not that I’d love them less, if we weren’t biologically related, but our experiences would have been so different. When I thought of a sibling as a kid, I wanted someone who could _understand,_ you know? Someone else who knew what it was like to not really belong anywhere, like me, and to have _my_ mother, specifically. I think I could’ve loved an adopted sibling, but not the same way. Especially if they were only Dad’s or only Mum’s.”

Angela tries not to take it personally, that Fareeha would have preferred a sibling by blood—she understands the reason behind it well enough, knows that identity is something that Fareeha has always struggled with, and maybe having a blood sibling, caught between cultures like her, would have been able to help her make sense of that. Still, it hurts to think about it, feels somewhat personal, that rejection, reminds her too much of why the Lindholms never adopted her—they had their blood children, already, and she just did not fit.

But this is not about her, this is about Fareeha. This whole trip is about getting a better view into Fareeha’s world, into her life, learning more about her partner, understanding her better. Even were it not, she asked the question, wanted an honest answer. That it hurts her is not something she can complain about.

(That she feels painfully out of sorts here, as with everywhere, she cannot complain about. This is not her home, it is _Fareeha’s_.)

What she expected, she cannot say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief notes:  
> \- average size home for a single family in canada is 181 m sq, average size for a family in switzerland? 99 m sq... so to angela fareehas home is 'large' because north american homes are fucking huge compared to european homes  
> \- open floorplan in fareehas house (on the ground floor) is bc of accessibility--more sightlines is NOT abt ana wanting to See Everything like angela thinks, its bc Deaf ppl cant talk through walls like hearing people can  
> \- angela is like ?? abt sam realizing that theyre there before anyone gets his attention but its simply because he can feel their footsteps as they approach (and isnt startled bc they said they were coming in town that day)  
> \- sam is tall bc if u look at the pic of him w fareeha in reflections, even bent over his shoulder is several cm higher above the back of his chair than fareehas is, therefore hes considerably taller. i think about 1.95m/6'5  
> \- you only get a sign name once ur a part of the Deaf community. angela is not. therefore she doesnt have one yet. fareehas is what started out as a joke between ana and sam when she was a baby, a combination of "f" and "general" bc she was a bossy baby, but then turned out to be prophetic bc shes a soldier after all. anas is a reference to her tattoo  
> \- yes angela does not know a lot of things abt either the deaf community or indigenous issues. canonically speaking, why would she? shes trying to do things Right tho...
> 
> & for this whole fic (and all fics in which fareeha being half-native comes up) i have to thank jake for being my sensitivity reader!! hes saving my ass
> 
> anyway, next chapter ends on a lighter note, i promise


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no long note rn bc my gf wants me to go the fuck to sleep lol

Being at home is always difficult for Fareeha. She loves her father, she does, and she always has, but theirs has not always been an easy relationship, and furthermore, it is a strange sort of alienation, to realize that she no longer belongs here, not really. This is home, but it is no longer _her_ home, has not been in years. No matter how perfectly preserved her bedroom is, the room is for a different Fareeha, one who never knew war, never knew what it was to become _Pharah,_ had not yet taken up the Amari mantle. She lived here, yes, but the version of her who lived here has been gone for a long, long time. 

But if she does belong here, where does she belong? Not in Egypt, either, not really, because a part of her will always have lived here _first_ , always be Canadian, always be aware that she grew up in a very different post-war environment than so many of her fellow Arabs. 

She is her mother’s daughter, yes, in so many ways, but she is her father’s daughter, too, and she thinks that ought to mean that she belongs in both places, in Egypt and in Canada, both, but instead she feels most often that neither is quite home. In Egypt, she misses the snow, misses being able to go fishing with her father, misses being able to have peace, the way she does when the world is not quite so loud, is blanketed in snow. In Canada, she misses the warmth of the sun on her skin, hates going to the mosque on holy days and looking over her shoulder, always, as she does so, worrying that something might happen, that someone might—it is hard, to be at peace in that way. 

No matter where she is, there is something just not quite right about the situation, or else not right about her, that she cannot feel at peace. It is something she struggles to articulate to other people, for even most of the other mixed people she knows have one home, are not so split between continents, between worlds, as she.

It is not a bad thing, to be who she is, but it can be a lonely one.

It is one of the few things she thinks she will never address with Angela, this inbetweenness, is something she doubts her partner will ever be able to understand, and that is fine, for they are not the same person, do not have the same experiences, and there are things about Angela, too, she will never understand, but it is hard, sometimes. Angela is so sure of her own identity, in a way Fareeha never really has been, and she is more than a little envious of that certainty. 

(And it is a gap, between them, that inability to understand this, something which is so fundamental to whom Fareeha is. They have talked about it, of course, and Angela is not dismissive at all, does her best to be respectful of that part of Fareeha, that internal struggle with identity and personhood, but being respectful of something and truly empathizing are not the same.)

Therefore, it is a bit of a sore spot, when they discuss if she would have liked a sibling, is one that she does not know how to articulate properly. A sibling, she feels, would have been her only chance to make sense of herself, to not be quite so alone in this. 

Fortunately, she never has time to dwell long at her father’s house. Unlike her mother, who is quite content to leave Fareeha to her own devices for days, weeks at a time, if she does not want to talk, her father has always been more social, always wants to spend time _doing_ something with her. She supposes she inherited her impatience from him.

At the very least, she learned her fidgetiness from him—he is always working on something, always has something in his hands, unless he is talking. Unlike her mother, he never has been content to sit in silence with his thoughts and do nothing. 

( _He would have made a poor sniper indeed_ , Fareeha can almost hear her mother saying. It is a silly thing, to think of it in those terms, but it is how her mother would chide her, when she was a child, for talking too much, or not being still. To get her to be patient, Ana would tell her that if she ever wanted to be a sniper too, then she would have to be able to sit still and silent for hours. This was good to guarantee herself a few minutes of peace, at least. Fareeha wonders what, when her parents were still happy, still married, her mother thought of her father’s constant movement. Maybe, before the Crisis, she did not mind so much.)

Many of Sam’s habits, his hobbies, he passed on to his daughter, and Fareeha knows that her mother does not understand it, the love the two of them have for using their hands. Sometimes, Fareeha wonders if sign has something to do with it—when it was only her father and she, alone in this house, for the first few years of her childhood while her mother was off fighting in the Crisis more often than not, Fareeha communicated primarily in sign, and still, she finds she thinks better when she uses her hands.

Whatever her father’s reasoning, he likes to keep himself busy, and now she does not have any more time to mope, because she can smell that dinner is ready, or nearly so. After their slightly awkward conversation about sleeping arrangements, Angela managed to fall asleep on the small twin bed after all, and Fareeha entertained, briefly, the thought of helping her father cook, but unfortunately Angela is asleep _on_ her, so she has been left alone with nothing but her thoughts in the meantime. 

When, after a few minutes spend fighting with a sleepy Angela in order to convince her that yes, it is dinner time in Canada, even if it is past her bedtime in their home time zone, they do make their way downstairs, Fareeha regrets that she did not help her father cook after all.

“Dad!” she makes the motion as sharply as she can, not yelling, quite, but definitely chidingly, “You made lasagna?”

“Yes?” Her father’s face is a confused one, and she regrets how forceful she was in saying this, almost, would were it not for the fact that:

“I told you Angela,” she points at Angela, who is looking at the plate her father just set before her with something like dismay, and perhaps a bit of discomfort, “Was K-O-S-H-E-R!” She has to spell kosher, having never had a need to sign it. Her father might know the word, she supposes, but considering that he just tried to serve Angela meat with cheese, Fareeha rather expects he does not.

For some reason, Angela is apologizing, says out loud, “I’m sorry, I should’ve mentioned to him that I don’t—I can make myself something, or eat leftovers. It’s really no trouble, and I—”

“Angela,” Fareeha is careful not to sound too frustrated as she says it, “I need you to wait,” because she cannot talk to two people at once, even if she can listen and sign at the same time. Interpreting is one thing—although despite her fluency in English and ASL she would not consider herself gifted at it, in the way that some people are—but two separate conversations at once are quite impossible.

She turns back to her father, who tells her, “It’s beef, not pork. Even without Angela,” he points again towards her, “I wouldn’t serve you pork. Your mother would kill us.”

Rather than point out that she is not a child anymore, and her dietary choices are now wholly her own, Fareeha decides to stick to the issue at hand, and leave the matter that she is, in fact, halal by her own choice, to another day, “I know it’s beef, Dad, but K-O-S-H-E-R isn’t just no pork. Angela doesn’t eat meat and dairy together.”

“Really? Shit,” her father signs to her, sharp and surprising, coming from him, before turning immediately to Angela to apologize. “I’m very sorry,” says he, “I didn’t know. Fareeha told me you were kosher,” and now that Fareeha sees the sign she remembers it, fingers moving from the mouth to pinch in front of the chest, “But I didn’t realize how much.”

(It is strange, to recognize a sign she forgot only moments before, and stings, in a way she cannot quite place. She _is_ fluent, she is, but sometimes, she forgets things, because it has been so very long since last she had a proper signed conversation. She just does not think about it, often, that she needs to practice, and even when she could, she does not, associates it too much with the frustrations of her teenage years, feeling like she had to be an interpreter before she could be a ‘normal’ daughter, and it was not fair to her father, then or now, to think such, but it still makes her uncomfortable, sometimes, signing around hearing people. Even when she can push past that, she feels also that it is not really her culture, even if she is a CODA, belongs in that way. Another sort of weird betweenness.)

“No,” Angela replies, and then, “No need to apologize,” or, Fareeha thinks that is what she is trying to say. What she signs is _NO SORRY YOU,_ which communicates her point well enough, “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” she stops signing, turns to Fareeha, says all in a rush, “How do I say that I’m sorry for the inconvenience, and that I know I didn’t give him adequate time to adjust the menu?”

“Just let me,” Fareeha says, because she would rather this all get sorted sooner, rather than later. She waves a hand to get her father’s attention back and repeats what Angela said, adds, “I’m going to get her something from the kitchen.”

“You don’t have to,” her father says, “I can make something else.”

Fareeha repeats his offer to Angela, who shakes her head, signs to him and says aloud, “No, no, I don’t want to be any trouble,” or, rather, a problem, in ASL.

Both she and her father reply at the same time, insist that she is not being a problem, really, and Fareeha then repeats her offer, aloud to Angela this time, to get her something.

“You really don’t have to—I can…” Angela protests, but she looks relieved, to hear it.

“I know,” Fareeha answers, signing and aloud, “But I think Dad and I would both feel better if you let me. You’re a guest.”

“Alright,” Angela acquiesces, and offers her plate, offending slice of lasagna still untouched, to Fareeha.

Then, Fareeha realizes the flaw in her plan, that she is leaving Angela in her father in what is undoubtedly a _very_ uncomfortable situation alone together. There is nothing to do for it, however. If she went back suddenly and asked her father to do this, after all, it would only draw more attention to the fact that Angela and her father are clearly not getting off on quite the right foot.

(Fortunately, she really does not think Angela will be angry about this. If anything, Angela is the sort to feel guilty for having disrupted things, just as her father will feel badly about having not known all the rules of eating kosher. In that regard, Fareeha supposes, things could certainly be worse. She does, however, make a mental note to remind her father about shellfish _before_ lunch tomorrow, lest he have made an uncharacteristic decision to have shrimp.)

When she comes back to the table, things are only marginally less awkward, with Angela and her father talking about the weather, of all things. She supposes that, at least, they have loving the snow in common, and does her best over dinner to try and generate more productive conversation—with limited success. Angela and her father are very different sorts of people, and she knew that before introducing them, but she had hoped that things would be marginally less uncomfortable than this.

At least they are both trying. As best she is able, Angela is working to construct sentences with her limited knowledge of ASL, rather than relying on Fareeha to interpret—something which would undoubtedly not be a comfortable situation for anyone, and Fareeha knows from experience, has not endeared past girlfriends to her father—and her father is doing his best to keep to words that Angela will understand, in turn. Maybe they have not found common ground yet, but at least they can have a relatively amicable conversation about jetlag, and types of snowfall, and other such boring topics.

(Certainly, Fareeha much prefers this to the tension between Angela and her mother. The two of them do not fight—not in front of Fareeha, anyway—but she can tell that they are being nice _for her_ , and that is a kind of awkwardness in and of itself.)

When dinner is over, her father refuses help with the dishes from the both of them, tells them that they must be tired, insists they go and get sleep, and Fareeha cannot tell if he is being kind or if he simply wants to be free from the awkward conversation. She would not fault him, were that the case. Angela certainly seems relieved to be able to go upstairs, although she does a good job of hiding it until they are out of sight.

“That… could have gone better,” Fareeha admits, on their way up the stairs, not sure how to phrase more diplomatically what it is she is feeling.

“I’m sorry,” Angela says, “I should have—”

“No,” Fareeha says, in part because, between her father and Angela, she has had enough apologies for one day. “It was my job to make sure he knew.”

A hum from Angela, considering, as the two of them pass through the door and into Fareeha’s bedroom, “I don’t like to inconvenience people, regardless. And more importantly,” she turns then, to face Fareeha, holds her loosely around the waist, “I want this to go well for _you_.”

By this point, Fareeha is well-versed in reading between the lines of what Angela says, knows that she was more upset by the fact that things are uncomfortable thus far than by the contents of their dinner, and knows she is probably worrying that the rest of the week will follow in suit. Fareeha would be lying if she said she were not concerned about the same, but she is not about to tell Angela that.

Instead she says, “I know, love,” leans in closer to kiss Angela’s forehead, once, before she pulls back again, “I can tell that you’re trying, and Dad is too, I promise,” assumptions about what being kosher constitutes aside, anyway. “And he doesn’t _dis_ like you, for what it’s worth. I think he just… doesn’t quite know what to make of you.”

A snort from her partner, indelicate, “That would make two of us,” says she, “He seems very nice but, ah, I don’t know that we have anything in common at all.” 

If Fareeha is being honest, she is not sure that they do, either. “You both like the outdoors?” she suggests, which, while technically true, is perhaps stretching things. Her father likes the wilderness, and Angela likes _gardening_ , and going for walks when she needs to clear her head and think. Such things are decidedly different from fishing, or staying in a cabin for a week or more.

“I suppose that’s a start,” Angela agrees. “And I do like cats, although I haven’t seen… Walleye?” She says the name uncertainly, as if she thinks she might have misheard Fareeha earlier.

“She’s skittish,” Fareeha explains, “And not very used to guests making much noise. Give her a day or two to warm up to us being here. Some things just take time.”

“Maybe tomorrow, then.”

“And speaking of,” Fareeha says, “We should really get some sleep.”

Angela agrees and Fareeha thinks, then, that the matter is dropped, as the both of them change clothes and prepare for sleep. For a few minutes, it _is_ settled, perhaps even half an hour. They have lain down for sleep, Fareeha on her back and Angela half on top of her, again, more out of necessity than anything, given the cramped space. Rather uncharacteristically, however, Angela does not fall asleep within the first ten minutes, is still awake when Fareeha herself is beginning to drift off, and just when Fareeha thinks she is going to fall asleep at last, Angela’s voice cuts through the silence, forces her back awake.

“We’re very different people, aren’t we?” She is not loud as she says it, in fact, it is scarcely more than a whisper, said with the sort of seriousness one often reserves for conversations at three o’clock in the morning—which it is not, here, but would be, back in Gibraltar.

“You and Dad?” Fareeha is confused, in part because she is still half asleep, but mostly because Angela did not give her much to go on with that statement.

Moving to sit up on one elbow, Angela says, “Well, that too, but I meant—you and I, we’re from very different backgrounds, aren’t we?”

Frankly, Fareeha thinks that is relatively obvious, and well established, but from Angela’s tone then this is clearly bothering her, and so she does not want to be too dismissive. “We are, yeah.”

A lull, and Fareeha wants to prod, to ask where this is going, in part because she has always been the impatient sort, but mostly because she is tired, and wants to sleep. “Does it bother you?” Angela asks her.

“Angela,” Fareeha is not sure how to say this politely, but Angela _did_ ask, “If dating a white person bothered me, we wouldn’t be here.” 

(Although, Fareeha has to admit, it was not until she knew Angela well that she fell for her, in part because yes, she always will be a little cautious upon meeting white people, a little slower to trust. She thinks that only fair.)

“That isn’t _quite_ what I meant,” Angela says, gathers her thoughts for a moment, and then continues, “Although I suppose it is a factor. I meant more that… _everything_ about our lives is so different, isn’t it? Religion, nationality, family life… we don’t really have anything in common.”

Well, when she puts it that way, Fareeha supposes she would be hard pressed to find similarities in their backgrounds, before joining Overwatch, but, “We’re similar in the important ways, aren’t we?” They have similar values, similar goals, they want the same things form a relationship. They have compatible senses of humor, and like to do things together. What more do they need, really? 

“Oh,” says Angela quickly, “No I didn’t mean—you know I love you, of course. I just was thinking that—we would never have met, outside of Overwatch, would we?”

They might have, Fareeha thinks, eventually, might have been stationed in the same place at the same time, Angela with MSF and her with Helix. But would they have gotten to know one another? Would they even have tried to? That is a very different sort of question, and she finds she does not like the answer much. “No,” says she, sitting up, too, “I suppose we wouldn’t have.”

“Really,” Angela says, “If you think about it, we wouldn’t have met without—without the Crisis, would we?”

Now, Fareeha thinks she can understand, somewhat, what Angela is getting at, even if she is not sure why that is a bad thing. But she knows it is different, for Angela, who lived the worst parts of the Crisis, who was older, and remembers more of that time, who lost her parents to it, knows that for her, the memories of that time are more powerful, even if it has shaped both of their lives, from the time that Fareeha was born. Always, things involving the Crisis will make Angela more emotional than she, will be more upsetting for her.

“No,” Fareeha agrees, “We wouldn’t have.”

“It's strange,” Angela says. “I think I knew before, but… being here, it’s more evident. We wouldn’t have had any reason to meet without the Crisis, and we never would have—this never would have… Our lives would be very different. Very separate.”

“And that upsets you?” Normally, it is Angela who is the practical one, who does not care for hypotheticals. This is the life they live. Why does it matter, that they would not have met, in some other, different time? This is where they are, now. Both of them, jetlagged, trying to find a way to both sit up comfortably in her old twin bed, having this conversation in the dark, their only light the glow in the dark stars her father put on the ceiling when she was six years old.

“Doesn’t it upset you? That without one of the worst things that’s ever happened to m—to humanity, we wouldn’t be together?” Fareeha notices the slip, notices the way Angela’s voice wavers a little bit, afterwards, and finally, she thinks she really understands what the problem is.

Or, rather, she knows what it is. Understanding is another matter entirely. Yes, they met indirectly as the result of something terrible having happened, the Crisis which threatened to eradicate all human life on the planet. And yes, Fareeha knows that such is a difficult subject for many people, Angela among them. However, she herself has difficulty finding that upsetting. At least, she thinks, _something_ good came of the Crisis, in that, all these years later, they have one another. 

She does not want to put it that way, of course, because it sounds callous, sounds like she thinks that it their relationship makes up for the things that happened to Angela, and of course she does not mean that. Probably, if the Crisis had never happened, Angela would be happier, overall, and would have found love with someone else. The existence of this, no matter how precious it is to the both of them now, does not make up for thirty years of pain.

(Fareeha thought she understood, for a time, what it was to lose a parent, and although her situation with her mother is its own unique sort of pain, of grief, she knows that it was harder on Angela, surely, to lose both parents so suddenly, and at such a young age. Even now, in her thirties, Fareeha does not know what she would do if she could not ask her father for guidance, when she needs it.)

Yet, still, it is hard for her to understand the logic. How is the goodness of this moment diminished by the pain of before?

“I think,” Fareeha says, “That it makes sense that it upsets _you._ ” Given Angela’s history, it would be understandable for any small tie to the Crisis to be upsetting, but that she does not need to say.

“But not you?”

“No,” Fareeha says, and it is true. She cannot prevent the Crisis from having happened, so the least she can do is be happy, now, in the aftermath. 

Silence, then. Angela has pulled her knees up to her chest, arms hugging them, and Fareeha gently convinces her to relax her posture somewhat, herself leans back against the wall, and pulls Angela into her chest. “We can’t undo the past, Angela,” says she, and Angela has told her much the same, when she has kept herself awake worrying over a mission gone wrong, wondering what better call she could have made, what she could have done that would have saved more lives, prevented more injuries.

“I know,” Angela agrees. “But if we could…”

 _If we could_ , it is clear she is thinking, _We wouldn’t be here._ Fareeha tries not to be hurt by that, because she understands, she does, that the idealized version of Angela’s parents that exist in her mind, the version she never grew old enough to see faults in, to argue with, are perfect—and she, Fareeha, is not.

“We can’t change the past,” Fareeha says, “Unless Winston and Lena have been up to something you’re not telling me about?” It is a joke, but judging by Angela’s lack of response, not a terribly well-timed one.

“I know,” Angela says, again, and this time it is a little sharp, “I do. But I hate to think that—if we did have that choice, I couldn’t possibly choose this. It would be too selfish.”

 _Selfish?_ That surprises Fareeha. She assumed that Angela would choose differently because she thought it would make her happier, but to think that she would choose this life, or at least consider it—well, Fareeha knows that this is the worst sort of time to be feeling touched, when this is something that is upsetting to Angela, but nevertheless, it is a strange thing to know that Angela does, on some level, consider her own personal suffering to have been a fair trade-off, to be where she is today. In its own way, it is a declaration.

“It would be,” Fareeha agrees, “But, Angela,” and this is the crux of the problem, “We _don’t_ have the ability to choose that. We never will.”

“How can it be so simple for you?”

Fareeha does not lie to Angela, not about anything, but for a moment she considers saying that she is not comfortable with having this conversation, if only because it is _not_ that simple for her, in fact, is a reality she lives every day, that has shaped her whole identity. But then she thinks—earlier, she felt so very alone, thinking about it, reflected upon how she was the only person like herself. If she cannot share this with Angela, then whom can she share it with?

“Because,” says she, “Without colonialism, I wouldn’t exist.”

It is simple to say, but not easy. The truth is this: she can never accept what was done to her ancestors when their lands, their customs, their very identities were stripped from them. She can never think that such a thing was right, was good, can never argue that her existing as a consequence is _worth_ that pain, that suffering, but she knows, too, that she cannot change that past, cannot undo that evil. If she spent her time, her energy, thinking about what in her life would not have been, were the world a better place, it would only make her miserable, for all the good things in her life are a result of such a thing, given that she owes her very existence to such.

Without colonialism, her father would never have needed to work towards securing rights for their people, and had he never had to do that, he would never have gone on the indigenous peoples’ exchange that led to him meeting her mother, so many years ago. Her mother, too, would not have had reason to be there, if imperialism and forced industrialization had not so changed Bedouin life in the past two centuries. If the world was a better place, Fareeha would not have Angela, it is true, but she would not exist, either, and although she can hate the suffering that her people were forced to endure, she cannot regret that she exists, cannot allow herself to hate that she is the result of such a thing, because then what would there be to be happy about?

“I’m sorry,” Angela tells her, “I should have realized. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” Fareeha tells her, because really, she _is_ at peace with it, these days, as much as anyone can be, has worked hard to come to terms with the fact that her existence is predicated upon such things having happened. “You didn’t realize. And it is hard, sometimes. But it’s like I said: we can’t change it.”

They cannot, just as there are so many things in their lives they have no power over, and there are things like this which Angela will never understand, will never have lived, and yes, it still will bother Fareeha sometimes, the loneliness of it, the singularity of her own existence, the fact that no one will understand what it is to be her, to have her background, to have experienced the Crisis in the same way that she did, with her mother’s role in things. She cannot change that, no matter how much she might wish, sometimes, that she wishes she could.

But this, too, is true: she and Angela are similar in the important ways, as she said. No one will ever know what it is to be her, and no one can ever answer her own questions about her identity, and that will never not be difficult, but even if Angela does not _understand_ everything, she is here for Fareeha, just as Fareeha is there for her, when Angela struggles with things she, too, cannot understand. They have one another, even if they do not have answers, and Angela would choose her, if she had the choice, thinks that, if it were not for the question of what is best for the rest of the world, being with Fareeha is what might make her happiest.

No one can tell Fareeha where she belongs, no one else can help her answer that question, that is true, but right now, Fareeha agrees with Angela—it is good to be here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoyed, again, ill add more notes after ive let my gf get some rest lol
> 
> okay edit 23/12/2019 to add some actual notes:  
> \- lots of people think kosher is just not eating pork... yes i suffer... so its realistic that sam would assume so, too  
> \- fareeha has forgotten a bit of sign over the yrs because she isnt signing as regularly as she used to--she and sam mostly email each other, and only see each other irl like once a yr  
> \- CODA = Child of Deaf Adult(s), refers to hearing ppl who grow up in Deaf culture bc one of more parent/guardian of theirs is deaf  
> \- walleye is a rescue but i swear the cat WILL appear gdi  
> \- rip fareeha and rip to me, too! some of us simply have to accept that shitty things happened in the past bc like, we literally would never have been born otherwise. when i was drafting this fic it was on my mind and i accidentally had a whole convo abt who in our group would still exist if we time travelled and killed baby hitler (like... one person). unlike fareeha id still kill baby hitler tho. rip to my own existence but like its for the greater good


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hewwo i return with more Shenanigans, this time of a slightly more positive variety

Most people want to be liked. It is normal, it is natural, it is not something Angela faults herself for at all, wishing that more people liked her, that they knew that the woman Overwatch made her out to be, in the old days, is not who she is, not really. Wanting to be liked by Fareeha’s father, however, is a very different matter, not only because he has not prejudged her for that association, but also because she wants him to like her not for her own sake, but for Fareeha’s. 

Family is at the heart of Fareeha’s identity, has shaped the woman she has become, how she thinks of herself and what the legacy is she believes that she needs to uphold. Often, it has been a painful thing, as, Angela is learning, it is for many people, but it nonetheless matters to Fareeha a good deal that she and her parents get along, if only because she will be happier that way.

(When Fareeha forgave Ana, for having left her, Angela could not understand it—Fareeha was hurt by the leaving, is hurt by it still, even if she shows it less. Why, then, forgive? Perhaps Angela is naïve, perhaps she is callous, but she thinks she would not have forgiven, under the same circumstances. Yet, Fareeha did forgive, felt that she had to, for herself, and Angela does not know, quite, what it is to be Fareeha, but she knows what it is to be consumed by anger, and to hate oneself for such, to not like what one’s anger has made one become, the ways in which it forces one to change. That is why, Fareeha told her, she initially forgave Ana, not for Ana’s happiness but for her own, because she could not begin to move on from that hurt until she put it behind her in some way. Angela cannot imagine herself doing the same, but she learned, from this, how much it matters to Fareeha, to not allow herself to be angry with her family for too long, to not let herself feel alienated from them, for she experiences it as a sort of alienation from herself.)

So, naturally, Angela wants very badly to get along with Sam, so that Fareeha will not have to worry about that conflict, will be able to relax and to enjoy her vacation, and to know that her relationship with her father will not be further complicated by Angela’s existence.

Unfortunately, that is, perhaps, an over-ambitious goal. At least, Angela supposes, Sam does not _dis_ like her, but she still wishes, now, that she were an easier sort of person to get along with. 

This is not to say that she thinks herself unlikeable, of course, nor that she thinks she ought to change herself in order to better get along with more people. It is only that, at her age, she is well-aware by now that her tendency to question things is off-putting to some, that her preference for privacy makes others think her aloof, that her firm defense of what she believes to be right can come across as sanctimonious and hypocritical. Everyone has their faults, and she does not expect that she will be universally liked, that all people will be able to look past those things and to enjoy her company, and she has no real intention of changing any of those things, either. Never will she be quick to trust, nor too open, and certainly she will not compromise her beliefs.

However, she cannot help but wish any of those things were the source of her problem, when it comes to connecting with Fareeha’s father. Then, at least, she would know how to mitigate the problem, would know what to avoid doing, in his presence, or at least be able to explain to him her behavior. That they simply do not seem to have anything in common is a far more difficult problem, for Angela. What can she do about that?

As best she can, she makes conversation, although more often than not that takes the form of her asking questions, half spelled out when she does not know the signs for what she is trying to express, and letting Sam talk to her. 

At least she is learning more about Fareeha, this way, is able to fill in just a bit more about the life that her partner had before they met, able to take parts of what Sam tells her and fold them into her understanding of what it must have been for Fareeha, to grow up when and how she did.

(Rarely do she and Fareeha speak of their childhoods. The past is something that is important to Fareeha, notions of legacy and heritage, and Angela wants to know more about that, she does, but she does not know how to ask, does not have the vocabulary or experience to do so. Still, she wonders.)

Fortunately, Sam is happy to answer her questions, when they come up, is very thorough in his answers, even if it takes them some time to work through his explanation. Fareeha could, of course, interpret, but she is of the opinion that Angela will learn more, faster, if she does not help, and that is fair—this is Fareeha’s vacation first and foremost, anyway—but sometimes Angela wishes she would step in a _bit_ more often. Two and a half days in, and Angela does not feel that she has gotten much better at this.

Instead, Fareeha helps in a different way, stepping in when things get too awkward and changing the conversation, switching to a topic that is easier for Angela, either emotionally or in terms of her limited vocabulary, and trying to find something else for the three of them to talk about. Sometimes, this is more successful than others. Angela is very interested in hearing about the fact that there are more birds near the house, in recent years, than there have been since the Crisis, thinks her own father would have liked to have known that, that nature is recovering, slowly but surely, and both Sam and Angela are amused by a story from Fareeha’s teen years, a treasured happy memory with Ana from that time, too long overshadowed by what else was occurring during their relationship in that period. However, when Fareeha turns the conversation to Angela’s research, or Sam’s luck with fishing, lately, conversation lags. 

Angela wishes she had more to offer, that there was something about herself she were comfortable sharing that would be of any interest to Sam. Unfortunately, she just does not like to talk about herself to strangers, and has few hobbies, besides, is not so well-read or funny as Fareeha is. Furthermore, she finds she does not know enough to be able to reply, thoughtfully, to anything Sam tells her, even when she is interested in what she is saying.

So, Fareeha carries conversations, and Angela is very, very grateful that, unlike the Lindholms, Fareeha and Sam seem content not to talk, the entire time she is visiting, and seem to consider it quality bonding time to simply sit in the same room, working on their own individual projects, only speaking every now and again.

They are having more substantial conversations when Angela is not present, she knows, because Fareeha mentioned, on the second evening they were there, filling her father in on her mother’s health, Sam’s concern about how she looks smaller, in pictures now. 

( _She isn’t hiding anything, is she?_ Fareeha asked Angela, voice not as steady and strong as it usually is, but instead open—scared. _No_ , Angela assured her, honestly, not caring, for once, about the ethical violation that saying so constitutes. Ana is healthy, she is, but she lost muscle, when she was recovering, and on the run, and even now, with the Recall, where she is safe, and can build a routine, again, it is hard to bulk up at her age, that is all. If Ana were sick, Angela would say something, she would.)

That the two of them are still able to discuss such things is good, Angela knows, because she did worry that by coming here, she would interfere with their ability to speak to one another, somehow. There are doubtless many things they might wish to discuss that do not involve herself, and that she has not yet earned the right to be privy to. To her, this seems only fair.

As much as they can, she and Fareeha work to be open with one another, to communicate their needs, to talk about their fears, their worries, their insecurities, but it has been hard for the both of them. It stands to reason that there would be some things that Fareeha is not ready, yet, to discuss with her, things which her father would know about, by virtue of having known her for her entire life. Furthermore, there is no reason for _Sam_ to be comfortable discussing any number of things in front of Angela, and she is fine with that, understands, too, that there are parts of Fareeha and Sam’s relationship, as father and daughter, that she has no reason to be privy to. She does not want to pry, does not want to press, is happy that Fareeha and her father seem to have the sort of relationship where they can confide in one another. As long as Fareeha is happy, Angela is perfectly content to not ask her to share more of herself than she is willing.

(In turn, she hopes that Fareeha will respect that boundary with herself. Even the parts of the past which are not painful, Angela much prefers to keep to herself. No one else could understand what those moments meant to her, and she is afraid, too, of trying to remember the good things too often. Memory is a mutable thing, degrades a little more each time one recalls something, for the memory is replaced, each time, with one’s most recent recollection of said moment, and so she does not want to waste what good memories she has of her parents on others, brings them up only sparingly, for each time she does so, she knows she loses a little more clarity, obscures the truth of that moment a little further. Too many times, before she learned such, she tried to recall her father’s laugh, and now she doe not know if what she thinks she recalls is anything close to the truth, or if it is something she invented, to comfort herself. So she understands it, not wanting to share everything, protects her own memories fiercely, and wants to justify few of her own other decisions.)

She tells herself that this makes it a good thing, that she declines Fareeha’s invitation to go ice fishing with she and Sam. They will have time alone to themselves, to talk about whatever it is that they may wish to, without worrying about her trying to interject, or asking for clarification, or otherwise intruding. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Angela does not actually know how to swim, and is more than a little afraid of going out on the ice, no matter how safe Fareeha insists it is. Nothing at all.

Instead, she stays home, and has a few hours to herself to catch up on her work, doing some of the reading she intended to do when everyone else was away on vacation and she was alone back on base. Here, in Fareeha’s father’s house, with both Fareeha and Sam gone for the whole day, having left just pre-dawn, Angela is no less alone than she would have been, in Gibraltar—is, in fact, more so, because if she _really_ wanted to, she might have spent time with Ana and Jack—yet she feels, somehow, happier. That catches her very much off-guard.

It is not logical, certainly. She is alone, has been left to her own devices for the day, and is in a relatively unfamiliar environment, too. If she felt lonely, here, in this large house, with no one for company, knowing that her partner did not protest at all her decision to stay behind, then that would make sense. Yet she finds she is not hurt at all by the fact that Fareeha accepted her choice to stay behind so easily, thinks that it was simply the right decision, for all of them, to allow Fareeha and Sam some time to themselves, without having to worry about integrating her into their existing traditions. She was invited, so it is not as if they are avoiding her, by going, and so she is not hurt one bit by the knowledge that her not being there is likely simpler, for the two of them.

It is true, she has not yet managed to fit into the little family unit Sam and Fareeha have made together. It is true that she and Sam do not know how to relate to one another, do not know what they have in common, if at all. It is true, there is a considerable cultural gap between she and Sam, not to mention a linguistic one, and they have trouble relating to one another.

None of that is ideal, none of it is what Angela wanted, when she came here, and none of it is making Fareeha’s life easy, that much is certain. Many things about this trip so far are imperfect, and she finds that, often, she wishes she were better at this somehow, were a different sort of person, who is good at making new friends and acquaintances, who has more interests in common with more people, and she knows all of this. For Fareeha’s sake, she wishes that things were going differently.

Yet, for all of that, Sam still invited her to go with himself and Fareeha, has not given up on trying to connect with her, just as she is still trying to connect with him. Hope is, she thinks, far from lost, even if fishing will not be what brings them together.

It would be easier, she does not doubt, for him to have not invited her at all, not only on that trip, but to his home, would be easier for him to speak to her through Fareeha, or not try to answer any of her many questions at all. Yet he has been nothing but kind to her, has not stopped trying to reach out, to find common ground, to include her, and that must be a good sign, surely.

(That it would be easier for her, too, to give up on the matter of trying to make conversation, and to just bury herself in her work, has not occurred to her. Usually, it would be what she would be doing, over the holiday week, catching up on what she needs to do to ensure she has enough continuing education credits to maintain her medical license, but if she is honest with herself, she knows that she does, and she does not want to use that excuse, not now, wants for this to work, for Fareeha’s sake, yes, but also because Sam is trying so very hard to be a good host to her, and she does not want him to feel that his efforts are in vain.)

Certainly, things are not ideal, but progress is progress. It is Fareeha who has taught her to be better at accepting that, knowing that not everything which does not succeed immediately is a failure.

So she is content to stay back, and to work, and she does not feel lonely at all.

This is not to say that the situation is entirely comfortable for her. She is still alone in an unfamiliar house, and although Fareeha said she could eat anything in the fridge, she does worry, when making herself a late lunch, that she is going to make a mistake, somehow, and eat something which is being saved for Christmas dinner, tomorrow. Although, now she thinks about it, she is not certain if they will be having Christmas dinner, at all, knows that Fareeha visits her father during the holidays, and that Sam himself is not religious, but does not know anything else of what it is they do, how it is they celebrate, if at all. Surely they must do _something_ , or else why would Fareeha choose this week to visit?

Then she is back to worrying, again, about whether or not she should have brought a gift. She considered a host gift, knows that they are polite, but did not have much time to get one, and her usual host gift—wine—felt inappropriate, given that she does not know if Sam drinks, and knows, too, that _Fareeha_ does not.

Well, it is too late to do anything about it. Angela has made the mistake before, not realizing the date, of attempting to shop on Christmas Eve, so even if she did know where the nearest shops were, and took Fareeha’s rental car, she would not want to be doing so. She will just have to apologize for her rudeness later. Given all their other misunderstandings so far, she feels confident that Sam will forgive this one.

True to what Fareeha told her, Sam is far easier to please than Ana is. Still, it is no excuse for rudeness, no excuse for not trying. She will get something for him, after the holiday itself is over, will find something she can do to make it up to him. He is trying so very hard to be a good host to her, so the least she can do is be polite in return.

Well, she would be polite if he let her. It seems that Sam does not want her doing _anything_ while here, insists that, as a guest, she should not help with the cooking, or with the washing up, or with anything. Part of that may be simply that he has never had her cooking, and she does not know where his dishes ought to go, but still, she does not like that she has not been able to do anything, wants to show, in some way, that she can belong here, too, can pull her weight. 

She does not want to be a guest for forever, after all, wants, someday, for him to consider her a part of this family, in her own way. 

Given that Walleye, the cat, has only today decided to she is comfortable with watching Angela from a distance, that day feels very far away. 

(To Angela, who does quite like animals, despite the fact that she has never wanted a pet for herself, this is quite the disappointment. Yes, Fareeha has said Walleye is skittish, but that does not make Angela feel any less guilty when she enters the living room and is greeted by a white blur as said cat leaps from Sam’s lap and runs to find somewhere to hide. She _knows_ Walleye must like more than just Sam, given that Fareeha’s black sweater from yesterday was absolutely covered in fur.)

Fortunately, she has not too much time to think about the matter, in the end, because she has only just finished washing her dishes when she hears the door to the garage open, and Fareeha and Sam come tromping in, boots loud on the floor. Another minute, two, in which their boots and coats are, presumably, removed, and then Fareeha and Sam make their way into the kitchen, a large cooler carried between the two of them, obviously heavy.

Angela ought to welcome them back, to ask how their day went, but from the apparent weight of the cooler, it is obvious that they had no problems with catching fish, and she has a more pressing question, besides: “Your clothes,” says she, pointing between the two of them, “M-A-T-C-H?” She wants to ask if it was intentional, but does not quite know how.

Fareeha laughs, at that, and then, once she and her father have set the cooler down on the counter, turns back towards Angela, “Dad’s idea!” insists she. Angela is not entirely certain that she believes that, given that more than once Fareeha has suggested that the two of them wear matching clothes for something, but it is true that the relatively tame ensembles, each of them wearing a shirt and vest in khaki and olive green, are not Fareeha’s usual style. Maybe matching with her father is where Fareeha got the idea from, that such a thing is normal.

(Granted, Angela would not know what a normal family activity consists of, but she cannot remember ever coordinating her clothes with her parents’ as a child, and she certainly has not seen many other families do it.)

“G-U-I-L-T-Y,” Sam signs, expression not at all apologetic. “But _Fareeha_ ,” he emphasizes her name as he signs it, shifting the blame, “Started the T-R-A-D-I-T-I-O-N.”

“I was seven!” Fareeha says, in her own defense.

“C-U-T-E,” Angela says, and it is, the image in her mind of a tiny Fareeha insisting she be allowed to dress like her father. Given the career Fareeha ultimately pursued, Angela would have assumed it would have been Ana that a younger Fareeha would have mimicked, but somehow this fits, too, picturing the tiny child Fareeha was in a fishing vest that was far, far too large for her.

“Very,” Sam agrees, “And also, she—”

Interrupting is not quite as efficient, in sign language, Angela thinks, since one cannot drown out a lack of sound, but Fareeha does her best to interject, signs very exaggeratedly, “We need to—” a word Angela does not know, two hands moving together, open and facing one another, in two loops from the left to the right in front of Fareeha’s lower body, “the fish!” 

From context, it is obvious that she means that the fish will spoil if they do not do something to them, but still, Angela repeats the sign, a question, not trusting herself to get the right definition.

“P-R-E-P-A-R-E,” Fareeha signs, as Sam moves to open the cooler.

“Good idea,” Angela signs, although they could speak, given that Sam is not watching, and will miss this exchange anyway, “We don’t want bad fish.”

“Yes,” Fareeha agrees, “We certainly don’t want that.”

A pause in conversation, then, necessitated by the fact that both Fareeha and Sam’s hands are occupied, Sam setting out a knife and cutting board while Fareeha moves towards the pantry to grab other necessary materials. Angela thinks that she should probably get out of the way, and get back to her work, and is surprised when, as she moves to walk past Sam, his hand taps her shoulder, once. 

It startles her, a little, the sudden contact, even though she knows it is a polite way to get someone’s attention, if one is deaf, and she tries not to jump. “Sorry,” says she, because she did flinch, even though Fareeha warned her before she came that she could reasonably expect as much, “What is it?”

“Do you want help?” Sam asks her.

A moment, two, in which Angela tries to figure out what it is Sam thinks she is doing that she would need his help with, before she realizes that he actually asked her, “Do you want _to_ help?” inviting her to join she and Fareeha in what is, she understands, an annual tradition.

“Yes!” she agrees, quickly, embarrassed by the fact that it took her several seconds to parse the meaning behind such a simple sentence. 

Sam undoubtedly noticed her hesitation, tells her, “You don’t have to. You’re a guest.”

“No,” says she, “I want to. I just misunderstood,” she does not like to admit that, but Sam certainly knows by now that she is not very good at signing. “It’s T-R-A-D-I-T-I-O-N, yes? I like T-R-A-D-I-T-I-O-N-S.”

(That is a bit of an oversimplification, regarding her feelings, but she does take comfort in some traditions, the ones she remembers from her own childhood, feels closer to her parents when she repeats them. If she is allowed to take part in this one, then that is a good thing, surely, is also a sign of belonging, even if to a different family.)

Sam holds one hand partially open above the other, the lower forearm crossed across his body, and brings his hands down at the same time, hands closing into a T-shape, then spells back to her, “T-R-A-D-I-T-I-O-N, see?”

As best she can, she repeats the sign, lets Sam move her hands to correct her, then makes the sign again.

“Good,” says he, and then, in answer to her question, “And it is a tradition. Fareeha and I go every year, if the weather is good.”

“Then I’m H-O-N-O-R-E-D to help,” says she.

Fareeha, who has reentered the kitchen, by now, and must have been eavesdropping, moves into the conversation space with them and signs, “You’ll feel less H-O-N-O-R-E-D when you’re up to your elbow in fish G-U-T-S.”

Angela wants to argue that she spends quite a bit of her time with her hands in human abdominal cavities, and she cannot imagine that fish would be much worse, but she realizes that she does not know half the words for that, and instead tells Fareeha that, “I’ll be fine, just show me how to do it.”

And Fareeha does, beckons Angela over to one of the cutting boards her father set up, and walks Angela through the process, standing behind her, chest pressed up against Angela’s back, and hands guiding Angela’s own. It is a little embarrassing, the casual intimacy of it, the way Fareeha is so easily in Angela’s space, rather than leaving any distance between them, but she knows that there is little less sexy than this, learning how to clean and cut a fish.

(Still, she chances a glance over at Sam, almost nervously, hopes it does not make him uncomfortable, that they are standing like this. By Angela’s own request, the two of them do not tend to engage in any sort of public intimacy on base, or elsewhere, she knows that technically, this is Fareeha’s home, but still, the point stands: they have not so much as held hands in front of Fareeha’s father, and they could definitely be standing further apart, right now.)

Her embarrassment is short-lived, however, because she is very quickly distracted by the process of it, learning how to use a spoon to scale the fish, then to gut it, removing the entrails from the abdominal cavity, and finally, behead and filet it, creating two neat cuts of meat to be cooked later. It is a messy process, with several pauses between steps to clean the fish and the space, but Angela is, of course, accustomed to such mess, even if she never _beheads_ any of her patients. 

It is similar enough to her work that she finds she is quickly too absorbed in the process to pay much attention to anything else, used as she is to tuning out all distractions during surgery, when someone’s life is on the line, and she barely realizes when Fareeha has stopped helping her, does not notice, either, that she is moving much faster, while doing this, than either Fareeha or Sam. For the first time in several days, she feels in her element, far more so than she has struggling through making conversation with Sam, or talking about family and the holidays with Fareeha. This, she is good at, and this, she is comfortable with.

To her, it ends almost too soon, and reluctantly, she sets down the paring knife in order to return to conversation.

“That was Q-U-I-C-K,” Fareeha says, after they have put away the last of the fish, “You’re good at this.”

Angela beams at the praise, and then, without thinking, replies, “It’s not so different from cutting up people!” before remembering that Sam is here, and she has just bragged in front of her partner’s father about how good she is at _slicing people open_ , how much she enjoys it _._ So much for trying to make a good impression. He knows she is a surgeon, yes, but Angela knows that, as much as she does enjoy performing surgery, likes being able to solve problems, to do something she is good at, and concretely help others, most people do not appreciate hearing about that. It seems macabre, to them, to admit that one might genuinely enjoy such a process.

Intellectually, Angela can understand that, she can. However, it does not change the thrill of a successful surgery, or the pride she has in her abilities. All other people disapproving means is that generally, she does not _say_ how she feels, particularly in front of people she wants to please. People like Sam.

It is a surprise, then, when he laughs, sudden and loud. Perhaps it should not be—he did marry Ana, after all, whose sense of humor can be rather dark—but it is.

His laugh is not unlike Fareeha’s, and so Angela finds herself laughing along, too, despite her mortification. Sam’s amusement does not make Angela any less embarrassed about what it is she said, but it does give her some hope. This, too, could have been as awkward as the days previous, but instead, he has chosen to take it in the best possible light, as a joke.

Surely, if he can look past _this_ , they will be able to find some common ground, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angela: i will make a good impression on my partners father  
> angela, cheerily: just like cutting up people :D  
> WELL...
> 
> notes  
> \- ana is fine, really. but nosy relatives will see u lost weight and be like ARE U DYING. no she is Not  
> \- its part of the curriculum in zürich canton to learn how to swim yeah but ive always hc'd that angela grew up in graubünden, where it is Not, so she just kinda never learned how bc her parents werent exactly around to teach her. i wrote a fic abt her learning in feb tho. its cute and takes place three months after this fic  
> \- walleye WILL appear i swear  
> \- yes fareeha and sams fishing outfits match. please look at reflections. they are wearing coordinating outfits i cant STAND it asldkjalksdfa what dorks  
> \- you dont use infinitives in ASL so to angela, who is a novice, "do you want help?" and "do you want to help?" is a very confusing distinction
> 
> please dont tell ur future relatives u love cutting ppl up, even if u are a surgeon. happy hanukkah night two from me to u


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hewwo

For as long as she can remember, Fareeha has liked holidays—her own, and other people’s. She likes the cheer, likes giving people the perfect gift, and seeing how happy they are, to have received it, likes to have the time off, to spend with the people she cares about. Christmas itself is not particularly meaningful to her, no, not in a religious sense, but she has happy memories of winter breaks from school spent with her father, and so she still likes to note its passing.

Her mother would have preferred, she knows, that she only observe Holy Days, and leave things like Christmas to other people, but her father, decidedly not religious himself, grew up in a Christian house, and so he kept a few of the traditions he liked from his own childhood, introduced them to Fareeha. Personally, she does not think it matters, if she bakes cookies with her father once a year, exchanges gifts with him, or the like— _she_ knows that she is Muslim, and Allah does too. It is hardly as if she is going to a church, or having a Christmas ham. It is just time with her father, whom she cares for, a chance for the two of them to do something as a family.

( _You don’t need gifts,_ her mother told her, _You have Eid,_ and that was true, certainly, but to six year old Fareeha, coming back from holiday break, and talking to her classmates about all the new toys they got, it did not matter so much, still left her feeling left out. Even Ana ended up compromising, on that point, started giving her a gift at the beginning of every new year, on January first, a little present _to start the year off right_. To this day, she and her father exchange not-Christmas gifts on the first, and laugh about it—but Fareeha appreciates now what she did not then, that her mother never wanted her to lose sight of her culture, her heritage, and was doing her best to ensure, at the same time, that such a difference would not be isolating for Fareeha, growing up so far from Egypt.)

So she wakes on Christmas morning excited, every year, even if it is, from a religious standpoint, just another day. No, they do not have a tree, and no, they will not exchange presents today, will wait until the new year, but she is happy, nonetheless, to spend the afternoon baking cookies with her father, and to eat for dinner the fish they caught together. It is their own tradition, and more special for that.

Always, it is just the two of them. This year, Angela is here too, yes, and sometimes, in the past, her mother was also present, even if she did not participate in any sort of festivities, but it is still _their_ tradition, and not anyone else’s, is one of the few things that they have always had only to themselves, and have kept doing even at the worst points in their relationship. 

Maybe, one day, if she has a child of her own, then she will pass the tradition on, will include them, but until that day, she does not want to share this, and she thinks that not unfair.

She thinks of Angela as family, yes, but this is not something for family, specifically, is for her and for her father, and fortunately, when she explained this to Angela last night, as the two of them were getting ready for bed, Angela did not seem bothered by that idea at all. Despite being a far better baker than either Fareeha or Sam, Angela does not particularly _enjoy_ baking, so, explained she to Fareeha, she would not have really wanted to join in, had she been asked to do so.

( _I would have,_ Angela clarifies, _To be polite. I don’t want your father to think that I don’t want to spend time with the two of you! I just… don’t like to bake._ There is more to the story than ‘not liking,’ Fareeha knows, can tell from Angela’s tone, but she does not press. Instead, she makes a joke about how Angela would much prefer to cut fish—or people—is happy just to make Angela laugh, again, and to set the matter aside. She will have her time alone with her father and Angela will not feel as if she is being excluded, as if she does not belong here.)

So Fareeha does not have to worry about that, and she is worrying less now, too, about her father and her partner accidentally offending one another. Dinner last night was easier than the previous several, and although Angela and her father still do not know, quite, what to make of one another, they are at least talking, and able to laugh with one another. More than that, Fareeha could not have asked for.

Certainly, it was better than any dinner with Angela and her mother, even with the necessary pauses as Angela worked through various sentences, and it was nice to hear Angela laugh, when her father told the story of how, exactly, he acquired Walleye, and how she got her name.

(Nice, too, is seeing how hard Angela is trying to communicate with her father, is knowing that she is doing her best to speak with him on his terms, rather than asking for a translation, or writing notes, or some other way of speaking that would cut Sam out of part of the conversation, or otherwise force him to be the one that makes all of the effort. Unfortunately, not all of the previous partners Fareeha has had have been so considerate, have thought only about how difficult it is for them, to communicate in a second language, and have not considered that every day of Sam’s life, he navigates the hearing world—the least anyone can do is sign in his home.)

Things were a little awkward, briefly, when Angela was trying to say she _admired_ Fareeha’s strength, but moved the sign for like down her chest, rather than away from it, in a motion far more similar to _craved,_ but despite Angela’s mortification at having said as much, it was quite funny, for Fareeha, and as far as misunderstandings go, this having been the only substantial one was a victory, in Fareeha’s opinion. No more accidentally insulting one another, or cultural missteps, just laughter.

How Angela and her father would get along without her there to help the conversation, Fareeha still does not know, but she is pleased to note, at least, that they are happy enough in one another’s presence with her there, and honestly, she would not ask for any more, would not expect it. Frankly, she is just relieved that Angela feels accepted enough by this point that she is not at all bothered by Fareeha’s asking to do something alone with her father, understands that she is not being excluded because she is unworthy of participating, but simply because this is a tradition between the two of them, and not a family one.

It is a difficult distinction, so much of their own family life having been just the two of them, together, but one Fareeha thinks is important, for herself, to know. Even if her family grows, over time, she still wants to maintain the closeness with her father that she has worked so hard to keep, over the years, wants to have some things that will be just for the two of them, and some things to pass on to future generations. Best, she thinks, to decide now what those things are, so that in the future she will already be prepared.

(Children are not something she and Angela have talked about, in so many words, but she herself has come around to the idea of having a child, has accepted finally that she is not doomed to repeat her mother's mistakes, and so she discussed the idea of children with her father, yesterday, while the two of them were out fishing, how much of their own cultural traditions she would be able to pass down to a child who would likely grow up far from Canada. How could she meaningfully incorporate tribal identity into their life—and to what degree should she feel obligated to? It is a difficult question, with no single answer, and her father could offer little advice, only support, and told her that, if and when such a time came, any future child of hers could spend a few weeks with him, every summer, and he would do his best to pass on as much as possible. With any future child still only hypothetical, this is probably as much as the two of them can do to prepare.)

For now, things are going well. She decided on something she would like to have as a personal tradition, and not a family one, made as much clear, and Angela was more than happy to occupy herself for an hour or two, while Fareeha and her father bake and decorate the cookies. They set up like they always have, across the kitchen counter from one another so that they can easily talk while they work, and other than the sound of Angela trying to coax Walleye out of hiding, everything is just as it always had been.

Which, Fareeha thinks, is nice. She loves Angela, and has liked having her here, but it is definitely very different, to be alone with her father, to talk to him one on one, than it is to be with him and with Angela at the same time, and to try and translate, or find something that all three of them can talk about. Even when they went fishing yesterday, it was not the same as this, because there is not so much time for talking, their hands mostly occupied with the fishing poles, and even when they could talk, their conversation was a decidedly more serious one, was focused on questions of identity, and future generations, what it would mean for any potential child of hers to be native, when they will grow up so far from their forebears’ home. 

Now, however, they are free to just catch up, to tell stories, and to laugh, to discuss all that has transpired in the time since they last saw one another in person. Some of it is standard family catching up—Fareeha’s cousin Ella and her husband have had a baby, and Sam excitedly pulls up pictures of little Erik to show her—some of it involves telling stories of the past, talking about what they have been reminded of, in recent weeks, months, seasons, the things that tie them to one another, some of it is just joking, her father being the only person who can truly appreciate her sign pun about Aleks’ braggadocio, and that is all nice, all familiar, all fill Fareeha with the sort of warmth that she has come to expect, when visiting her father, associates with being _home._

(Egypt is home too, of course, but it is not the same, seeing her mother’s family, without her mother there, too. Things are more complicated, with them, and always have been. Up until she and Ana stopped talking, Fareeha never realized how much of her grandmother’s disapproval her mother was shielding her from, knows that, much as she loved her grandfather, close as the two of them were, there is little sense in visiting that side of her family, now that he has died, and without Ana to help keep the peace. She can stop by for an hour or two, join them for dinner, but staying in their houses? It is not the same as being with her father, is nothing like coming home, even if she prefers Egypt itself to Canada, always has.)

Where Fareeha’s home is, she does not know, thinks she will feel torn, no matter where she goes, but like this, when she is with her father, just the two of them, talking as if they see each other every day, and are not apart for months, a year on end, she thinks that perhaps what matters more is the company, than the location, thinks that being with Angela, too, is home, when it is just the two of them alone in their quarters.

A pause in conversation, and she glances over at Angela, a room away. Her partner is currently attempting to lure Walleye out into the open, cat toy in hand. It is funny, seeing Angela like that, so uncharacteristically undignified as she attempts to gain the trust of the cat, getting down on the floor with her hands and knees. 

She must look for too long, because her father reaches across the counter in order to wave a hand in her face, getting her attention back.

“Sorry,” says she, “I didn’t mean to zone out,” moves a hand from her forehead, closes it into a fist.

“It’s okay,” her father says, striking the tips of his fingers against each other, _doesn’t matter_ , “It’s sweet,” he does not touch his lips directly as he does so, and Fareeha is grateful—it would not do to touch one’s mouth while cooking.

“Maybe,” Fareeha moves her index fingers apart from one another, sharply, “ _But_ I’m trying to enjoy this with you.”

As she signs, her father works on cutting out another cookie, so she follows his lead as he replies, and works on the cookies before herself, “You’re talking with me now, aren’t you?” asks he, uses a c-handsign, she is _communicating,_ too.

“Wasn’t I communicating before?” asks she. To the best of her knowledge, she has been open, this whole trip, has done her best to facilitate conversation.

“Not about your sweetheart,” her father says, and Fareeha wonders if he picked that sign to make a bird pun, or if he thinks it is more mature than _girlfriend_.

“Don’t call her my sweetheart,” Fareeha protests, feels ridiculous even signing it. Angela is many things, but romantic is not one of them, and Fareeha rather thinks that the embarrassment of knowing that _that_ is the word Sam has used for her might kill her.

Her father grins, then, in a way that makes Fareeha realize that she has played right into his hands, “What should I say then? Wife?”

“No!” Fareeha signs, very, very vehement. She and Angela are absolutely _not_ engaged.

(And Fareeha is fine with that, she is. Even before she and Angela were dating, they discussed the fact that Angela is not keen on the idea of tying herself to any one person, to any one place, wants, _needs_ , to be free to go when and where she sees fit, and thinks, therefore, that marrying would be unfair to someone. Before they ever became a couple, Fareeha accepted that such a future will not come to pass, not for them, and she has made herself okay with it. No matter what she might prefer, she is happy as things are, now, will always be happy to have had this time with Angela in her life.)

“Sorry,” her father signs, immediately, and for the moment, their cookies are forgotten, “I didn’t know it was a sore subject. I just thought…” a pause, he shakes his head. “You seem to love her very much.”

“I do,” Fareeha agrees, “She makes me very happy,” and that is true—Angela brings balance to Fareeha’s life that she did not know she needed, helps her through the worst of her days, and is there, too, to share in her joy, on the days that are good, the days she is happiest, is her partner in all things, and helps her to achieve her goals, on the field and off.

None of that means, however, that they are going to get married, nor does it mean that they should. Already, they are happy. What more could Fareeha ask for?

(The ability to call Angela her wife, of course. To see their love recognized legally, and an excuse to tell everyone— _everyone_ —just how much Angela means to her, how much she loves her. The promise of a future together. All of these things, Fareeha knows she wants, but she knows, too, that Angela told her, years ago, that she is not the sort of person who is suited to settling down, that even Overwatch, she cannot promise she will stay with. Angela’s life has taught her to fear being pinned in one place, coming to rely too much on the love of other people, just as Fareeha’s has taught her to long for that sort of thing.)

“I’m happy you’re happy,” her father tells her, and his expression is sincere, but he is good at reading her, too good, after so many years, and so he knows, too, that there is more to this, “But are you content?” Her father has always been good with words, signed or written, and it is a neat little thing he does, turns the sign happy on its side to form content as he asks the question—two sides of a similar emotion. He might have signed happy with a single hand, but he chose two just to make this point.

Is she content? It is a difficult question. Fareeha has always wanted more than she has, has wanted to have a legacy, to be as good as her mother, and then better, to be outside of that shadow. Always, she has been ambitious, has been driven, and it has helped her, in life, pushed her to do better, be better, and to advance. Without that drive, that lack of contentment, she would not be where she is now, leading Overwatch in the Recall, as it grows ever closer to achieving, again, some sort of legitimacy.

When has Fareeha ever been content? When has she settled for what someone has told her she could be?

But Angela has taught her moderation, in her own way, does not ever discourage Fareeha from attaining her goals, but has shown her how to be happy with what she has, and where she is. They are such different people, and they always meet in the middle, somehow, always find a place where the two of them can both be happy, a point upon which they can agree. Things need not always go as Fareeha wanted them to for her to be satisfied, and to feel fulfilled.

Is that contentment? In spoken English, no, but the sign is the same—fulfillment, contentment, satisfaction all rolled up into one motion, and lately, she certainly feels fulfilled.

Yes, she would rather be married, if it were a possibility, would love to say that she will be able to have Angela in her life forever, but she is happier in a relationship with Angela, and not married, than married to anyone else.

(Maybe one day, she will change her mind, because Fareeha has always been fond of the idea of marriage, of getting to wear her uniform to her wedding, and to walk down the aisle with a woman she loves, hand in hand—but for all that Fareeha is fond of traditions, is trying, even now, to build her own, in order to make sense of who she is, and her place in the world, she knows that she does not _need_ that, to be happy, does not need tradition to tell her that the love she feels for her partner now is real. No matter what, the love that she feels in this moment will always have existed, have been real.)

“I think,” says she, after she has had time to consider it, “That I prefer having Angela to having a wife.”

Her father takes a moment to consider that, carefully, hands kneading the dough as he thinks, turning it over, and over, and over, before at last he pulls his hands free and tells Fareeha, “If you’re content, then I’m happy.” Another pause, one hand going to his own empty ring finger, a quick touch, before he signs, “Marriage isn’t everything.”

(Fareeha knows that well, has known it for many years, has seen that her parents did not stop loving one another, when they divorced, even if, legally, their union had ended. It is not marriage that has tied them to one another, kept them coming back to one another, year after year, even separated on paper, by contents, and through a death. Having grown up seeing such a thing, she thinks she knows that fact perhaps better than her own father.)

“I know,” says she, “It would be nice,” she will not lie, “But the way things are is good. Very good.”

“You seem happier,” her father confirms for her, “Than you were.” 

That, Fareeha thinks, is a rather low bar. The last time they saw one another in person, her mother was still pretending to be dead, and Fareeha was weighed down by that secret, every hour of every day, and struggling to prove herself, too, in this new Overwatch, to show that she is not her mother, is a soldier, a leader, in her own right. Of course she is happier, now, than she was then, of course things are better.

Yet, Angela has been a part of that, has helped her, even before Ana’s return, to disentangle her legacy from her mother’s, to define what it is she wants for herself, and to make the others see it, too. Always, Angela has seen her as a person wholly her own, and has helped her to demonstrate that to the others, and articulate it for herself. Sometimes, Fareeha does not know who she is, not really, does not know what is more important, that she is _Fareeha_ , that she is an _Amari_ , that she is _Pharah_ , but to Angela, that distinction has never mattered, much, for Angela loves all of those parts of her, admires their different qualities, has helped her to see that she is not only those things, but all of them at once, and worth loving, in any case. 

“I am happier,” she confirms, “Angela makes me happy,” and, also important, “And things with Mum are getting better, too.”

Although her father’s movements are fluid as ever, there is a tension to his face when he signs, “That’s good. I want you both to be happy.” He means it, he does, that much is clear, but things are complicated, between him and Ana, have been for nearly as long as Fareeha can remember.

“We are,” Fareeha confirms.

“She isn’t too hard on you?” 

When Fareeha was younger, it always fell to Sam to intercede in their arguments. Better than anyone, he knows how much the two of them love one another, and how much pain they have caused each other, in their attempts to show it. It is a serious question, but Fareeha does not want to talk too much about it, even with him, because her relationship with her mother is still repairing, is still a difficult, delicate thing, and she does not know what it is she could say about it, how she could possibly put to words how things are going, between she and Ana. Instead, she settles for humor, for the time being, “Only when she reminds me that I’m her only chance for grandchildren.”

“I hope,” her father says, still serious, “Yesterday, when we were talking about if you had a child, you didn’t think I was pressuring you. You _are_ our only child, and I’d like a grandchild or two, but I want you to be happy, more.”

“No,” Fareeha says, “No, you weren’t—it’s fine.” There is a certain pressure, yes, that comes with the knowledge that she is her parents’ only child, that she and she alone will be the one to carry on their family line, will decide for them whether or not they are able to experience being grandparents, but most of that pressure is internal, not external. She knows that her father wants her to be happy, more than he wants her to be a mother, knows what sort of parent he has always been. No matter what it she has dreamed, he has always supported her.

(The same cannot be said of her mother, not given what happened when Fareeha enlisted, but they have come a long way since then, and are working towards an understanding, now. No longer does Ana presume to control her future, no longer does she say what she thinks is best for Fareeha, even if it is clear what she believes, what she would prefer. These days, Ana tries, at least, to let Fareeha decide her own fate, and keeps her opinion mostly to herself. Sometimes, she slips up, but they are trying, both of them, and things are getting better.)

“I’m glad,” says he, and then after forming three cookies, all in a row, he adds, “Although, if your mother is saying that, she must like Angela, yes?”

Fareeha had not thought of it that way—things between her mother and Angela are very complicated, for they have their own history, their own conflicts, and they seem to have some agreement that it is best to leave Fareeha out of them, because she can never get a word out of either one of them, on the subject, does not know how they feel about one another, because as best they can, they refuse to address the matter. Yet, as her father points out, her mother is probably prodding her about children more, lately, because she and Angela are so committed to one another. 

Probably. But, cynically, Fareeha thinks, “I’m pretty sure Mum knows you don’t have to be married to have a baby.” At the very least, her parents were not married when she was conceived—Fareeha can do math.

“Not if you ask your grandmother,” her father is laughing, as he says it. “She made us sleep in separate beds when I visited, even after we told her your mother was pregnant.”

“Really?” It does not surprise Fareeha, she supposes, to learn that, but it is rather amusing. She knows her very image-conscious grandmother cannot have been pleased when her youngest daughter turned up pregnant. 

“If your grandfather hadn’t intervened,” her father says, “I don’t think she would have let me stay in the house!”

“What did your parents think?” Even so many years later, there is much about her parents’ relationship she does not know, and her father’s own parents died when she was very young.

Her father is more serious, then, “They weren’t too happy either,” he says, “With me, mostly. They loved your mother—and if anyone asked, I think they would have just insisted you were very premature.” _True business_ , he signs, at the end, he is not joking, even if his expression indicates that he finds it very funny.

Oh dear. “Well,” Fareeha supposes, “At least if Angela and I do end up having a child, you can’t complain.”

(Marriage may be off the table, but Fareeha knows that Angela loves children—knows that, barring her concerns about her own ability to raise a child, Angela would like to be a mother, someday.)

Her father’s eyebrows raise considerably, at that, “Marriage is too serious, but you’d consider a baby?”

“It’s complicated,” Fareeha says, but he makes a good point. It _is_ rather strange, now that she thinks about it, that Angela has said that she does not think herself the type for commitment like marriage, and yet she has been open to the idea of raising a child together. But, then again, Angela’s reasoning with things like this does not always make sense to Fareeha. Maybe to her it makes sense, somehow.

“I can tell,” her father says, and then, a smile, but tinged with a bit of sadness, “You really are my daughter.”

Here, Fareeha knows what she wants to say—that Angela is not her mother, that she and her partner have a different sort of relationship, with different sorts of challenges. They are very different people, yes, like her parents were, and they come from very different backgrounds, too, but they work together, on the field and off, are with one another all the time, are not separated by duty as her parents were, and are able to be there for one another, when they need it.

Yet, she knows, too, that were it not for the Crisis, things could have been different, for her parents, that they could have had more time together, might have raised her with one another. Then, who knows what would have changed. 

“I should hope I’m your daughter,” Fareeha says, instead of acknowledge any of that, “Because otherwise, I don’t know what I’ve been doing making cookies with you for the past thirty years!”

And just like that, the moment passes, and they are joking again, happy. There will be time enough to think later about where things with Angela are heading. For now, Fareeha is happy with where she is, with how things are going, here in her father’s house, is happy to see her partner get along with her father—and, maybe, be accepted by her mother, too. She is busy building traditions, at the moment, she can worry later about who will be here to celebrate them with her.

This is here, and now. It is Christmas, and she can hear Angela just a room over, cooing to her father’s cat, who has evidently finally given in and allowed herself to be petted. It is Christmas, and she and her father are baking cookies like they always have. It is Christmas, and no matter what tomorrow brings, she will always have had here, and now.

Fareeha has always liked the holidays, and she will not let worrying over the future stop her from celebrating what she has now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should probably have some notes here but like. im trying to watch the witcher rn and like. no thoughts head empty
> 
> anyway as we all know... in this series angela and fareeha DO get married... but its not fareeha that proposes, so shes still clueless abt all that
> 
> hope u all are having a happy hanukkah, or have a merry christmas, i suppose. and if u dont celebrate either, pls enjoy ur day off and/or sweet sweet overtime pay
> 
> 25/12/19 note update:  
> ah yes. notes i forgot to leave on this chapter  
> \- fareeha's pun abt zarya is that "brag" and "russia" are very similar signs, so u can say that of course she is proud of her abilities, she comes from [sign for brag rather than russia]  
> \- conversation between sam and fareeha has a lot of repeated phrases/words bc asl is like that. there are fewer commonly used signs than english words bc a lot is distinguished by context, facial expression, or combining signs. imo thats a good thing, but it does make transcribing a sign conversation look a little weird, sometimes. just know that if u signed the convo it would flow better LMAO


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wouldve have been updated a few hrs earlier but blah blah last night of hanukkah, finishing watching the witcher s1, plane crashing on my friends neighbors house... (which btw new fear)

For much of her life, Angela has done her best to not think too much about the future. Of course, she does her best to build a better world, to ensure that future generations will live lives that are, she hopes, happier than her own has been, and she looks towards the future when she pushes for changes in the way research is done, and her work is distributed, but that is not the same as planning for her own future, thinking for too long or too hard about what it is that will happen to her, in the years to come. 

This, she knows: she cannot control her legacy. What others will think of her is something that she cannot change, no matter how hard she might try. She will, of course, do her best to do what is right, and good, and to ensure that the mark she leaves on the world is as good as possible, but she cannot force others to think fondly of her, cannot ask anyone to forgive what came of her time in Overwatch. Not everything she has done has been good, not all the impacts of her work have been positive, and she would not deny others their anger, their resentment, even if she hopes that, ultimately, she will be recognized for having done some good.

(No amount of good can undo the bad, and she does not seek that, knows better than to hope for redemption, or atonement, for what was done in the first Overwatch. All she hopes for is this: when she is gone, she will have done more good than bad, will have helped more people than she has hurt. Nothing will be made up for, in such a way, but it is something to hope for, nonetheless, having a net positive impact on the world in which she lives.)

This, she knows: eventually, everyone she knows, everyone she loves, will die. There have been times, in her lie, when she has tried to change that, tried to cheat that reality, done her best to ensure that death would no longer be so permanent as once it was. To a certain degree, she has been successful, and she can bring back those who succumbed to traumatic injuries, but she cannot cure cancer, she cannot stop age, and she cannot make others want to live forever. Most people want a good life, and think, too, that part of a good life is a good death. She cannot take that from them.

(There is no such thing as a good death, this Angela knows. Death is death, and all of it meaningless. But she cannot force others to live, cannot convince them that they ought to exist forever, if that is not what they want. When they come back, she has seen their faces, knows that some of them would have preferred to have been allowed to die in battle. She cannot force them, again and again, back to life, not when their lives are so full of pain, of suffering, of endless battle and death.)

This, she knows: someday she too must die. What she will do in the meantime is not set in stone. For now, she thinks, it is nice to imagine that she will stay with the Recall for as long as she is able, that things will continue down the path they are following now, one she finds acceptable, one she can feel good about being party to. Then, she will be able to stay with her friends, her makeshift family, will be able to surround herself with those about whom she cares, rather than wandering the world, helping strangers. 

(Naturally, Angela has nothing against strangers, having never met them, but she has, like many people do, a deep desire to belong, to be surrounded by those whom she loves and those who love her. Strangers do no fulfill that need, not the way Overwatch does—the way Fareeha does.)

Avoiding thinking about the future, hoping too much, has protected Angela, in the years since her parents’ deaths, and was even more important to her, in the years following Overwatch’s Fall. If she has no expectations, then she cannot be hurt, can only make the best with the opportunities before her.

Yet, lately, she finds herself wanting more than that, wanting more than to just make others happy. She wants happiness for herself, too, and not only the sort of happiness that stems from having helped others, the contentment with where one is, and what one is contributing to the world. When she is lying in bed with Fareeha, she thinks, selfishly, that she wants for it to last forever, that she wants to be able to have a promise, a certainty, that this shall not end.

Such a thing is impossible, of course, particularly in their line of work. Either one of them could die tomorrow, this they know whenever they head out into the field. It is something Angela long ago came to—not accept, for she will never accept death, but to understand. Fareeha will not give up this life for her, the inherent danger of being a soldier, nor would she ever give up her own profession, and so that, she would never ask for. Neither she nor Fareeha can promise the other forever, but she does not want that, not really, knows, at least for herself, that on some level, duty will always come first.

Fareeha matters to her, a good deal, but she will never give up her work, will never consider her own happiness—or Fareeha’s—more important than that of the people whom they protect, the people whom she heals, the people whom they serve. What is more, Angela is relatively certain that Fareeha feels the same way as her, will only continue to be in a relationship with Angela for so long as she is able to continue her work as a soldier as well, and that is one of the things Angela most loves, most admires, about Fareeha, her dedication to duty.

No, Angela does not want forever, and cannot plan to have it, would not allow herself to be drawn into such fantasies. She knows that such a promise is impossible from anyone, but more so from people like herself and Fareeha. Even Overwatch, neither of them will pledge forever to, for Angela knows that she would leave, if things changed, if they became, again, like the old Overwatch was, and she thought they did more harm than good, and she knows, too, that Fareeha might leave, if again actions like the ones performed by Blackwatch in their later years were necessary to ensure the survival of their organization.

Instead, Angela wants this: as long as Fareeha will have her, and she wants, too, a promise that, come what may, they will try to stay together, to stay with one another. 

So, for the first time in her life, Angela finds herself considering very seriously the matter of marriage. Before she met Fareeha, she never thought she would be happy, settling down, never thought that she could possibly promise herself to someone forever, and was afraid, too, that they would come to resent her, for the fact that she will always put her work about her intimate relationships. Fareeha, however, is different than the lovers Angela has had before, in that Fareeha, too, puts duty above her own happiness, has always done so. Better than anyone, Fareeha understands what it is to believe that the needs of others supersede all else, for Fareeha was willing, once, to sacrifice her relationship with Ana for the same principle. 

With Fareeha, Angela need not fear that her need to help others will be seen as selfish, or that the value she places upon her work will become a point of contention. They are both of them the same, in that regard.

And, perhaps more importantly, Angela _wants_ for things to go well with Fareeha, in a way she has not wanted things to work before, wants for their relationship to last as long as possible. Never will she set aside her work for Fareeha, or for anyone, but for Fareeha she will work to better herself, to change her routine, to do things in such a way that Fareeha is happier, and she herself is, too. For Fareeha, she will not set aside her goals, but she will consider that not everything she has done has been the best way, not everything need be the way it has always been. 

With previous lovers, she would simply have told them to accept her as she is, or to leave. Fareeha, however, is worth changing for.

Marriage, therefore, seems no longer to be impossible and, more importantly, may in fact be desirable, may be a way of communicating to Fareeha that no, she knows she is not perfect and yes, she cannot promise a forever, will not, but she can, at least, promise that she will try, that at this point in her life, she wants their futures to be as entwined as possible, hopes that their work will continue to allow them to be with one another for the rest of their lives, to always work as partners, side by side.

How she will broach the subject to Fareeha, she does not yet know, but she knows that she will, in the coming year, knows that she wants them to be engaged before their anniversary—provided, of course, that Fareeha agrees to marry her.

She is very hopeful that such will be the case, thinks her odds are likely good, given that Fareeha agreed to have her here for the holidays, offered, this morning, to introduce Angela to her extended family, next year.

That prospect makes Angela a bit nervous. Even under the best of circumstances, she does not do well with crowds. When Fareeha said that she was going over to visit several of her cousins for brunch this morning, Angela was relieved to have not been invited along—she feels it is difficult enough, finding out where she stands with _one_ member of Fareeha’s family.

That one member, too, has eschewed the family gathering, given that navigating conversations with large groups of people is difficult for him, as a Deaf person. 

For the first time all week, Angela finds herself properly alone with Sam—who has insisted, by now, that Angela only call him by his first name—with no Fareeha to help ease the conversation. That makes Angela nervous, not that she is concerned about communicating, since Sam is more than capable of ensuring that she understands what he is saying, even if it takes a good deal of effort, on his part, but because she does not know what it is he has not said, previously, as a result of Fareeha being present. If he is anything like Ana, then there will have been much he has censored, around Fareeha, in order to better discuss the matter with Angela in private, where Fareeha can neither be upset by the conversation nor intervene.

Fortunately, Sam and Ana are different in a good many ways, and when at last Fareeha leaves, and Angela and Sam find themselves alone, all he does is go sit in the living room, in the armchair he seems to prefer, and set up to whittle something.

(Later, Angela will learn that this is a nervous habit, that he did so because he was considering how best to broach a difficult topic, and not because he was relaxed, and simply enjoying a hobby in peace. For now, however, she remains clueless, and thinks only that he is offering her the chance to decide if they will talk, or not, if they will sit together in silence or go their separate ways. Sometimes, there is power in ignorance.)

For the first few minutes she only watches as he works, sits at the end of the couch furthest from his chair, watches and waits and wonders, while his work takes shape. It is a very different sort of work from skinning the fish, is a different set of motions, too, from signing, and she wonders if he is ever still, ever fully at rest.

It reminds her of something. Of someone.

Memories are precious things, and Angela hates to share them, knows that by calling them forth, she loses a little more clarity to the fog of time, as her memory of the past is replaced with her memory of remembering the event, in the present, a memory of a memory of a memory of a memory, and further and further back, until eventually the facts of the days with her parents she can recall are lost to her entirely, replaced with her own memories and mythologizing. Yet it is lonely, to never share anything, to keep all of the good parts of what her parents meant to her—their lives, rather than their deaths—to herself, to know that when she is gone, not even her half-invented memories will remain.

Sometimes, even if very rarely, she wants to share things, and sometimes, although it is even less often, she does so.

Carefully, she moves down the couch, closer and closer to the end nearest Sam. Whether she is slow for his benefit, so that he has a greater chance of seeing her in his periphery and not being startled, or for her own, unsure as she is of how to bring this up, she is not certain. Most likely, it is the latter, for by the time she is seated next to him, he has noticed her, and she still has not figured out how to broach the subject.

Instead of say anything personal, she starts with a question, once Sam turns to look at her, “Do you,” she pauses, unsure how to say _whittle_ , “Cut often?” 

“Not cut,” Sam repeats her sign back to her, open hand making small chopping motions on his opposite palm, “That’s food. _Cut_ ,” he moves his palm upside down, makes a sawing motion with his dominant hand, still open, “Is W-O-O-D.”

“Cut, sorry,” Angela corrects herself. “And W-H-I-T-T-L-E?”

Sam signs _me_ and _family_ before pantomiming whittling, which, to the best of Angela’s understanding means that, “There isn’t a standardized sign for whittle, but we use this.”

As best she can, she repeats the motion, worries, still that it will come off wrong, somehow, her mimicking the motion—will be too similar to people who think that sign is not a language unto itself, and think they can just act out everything they are saying, “Do you whittle often?”

“Often enough,” says he, which Angela thinks is no answer at all. “It helps me think.”

If Angela could, she would think _less_ , is too often too lost in her own thoughts. Still, she understands that many people have the opposite problem, apologizes, “I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?” Not only can he not think, if she is talking to him now, but he cannot whittle either, occupied as his hands are with talking to her.

“You are,” he says, but his smile is kind, as he does so, “But that’s alright. If I didn’t want interruptions, I’d just close my eyes.”

Angela is not sure whether or not it would be appropriate to laugh, at that, so she just smiles nervously, and there is a moment of awkwardness between them before Sam moves to restart the conversation.

“Was there something you wanted?” 

Was there? She wants to say that she only thought to watch him, but that is not true—he cannot work while he speaks to her, and she knows this, interrupted him for a reason, because it felt, for a moment, very important to share something, to let him know that maybe, in another time and place, Fareeha could have known and liked her family, too. They are very different sorts of people, from very different backgrounds, but in some ways, they have much in common, and Angela would like to think… she would like to think that, were their positions reversed, Fareeha would have liked her parents, too, would have felt at home with them, in some small way.

What she does instead of saying any of that is ask another question, inching her way closer to something far more important. 

“Did you teach yourself?” she asks of the whittling, “Or is it tradition?” She wants to say _custom_ , but tradition is good enough—and she thinks her inability to be specific, here, is probably helping her, a little. She knows that some Pacific Northwest peoples carved totem poles, remembers Fareeha showing her one of a thunderbird, once, when explaining the story behind it, but she does not know for sure if _Fareeha’s_ people, specifically, made them, or if there is another word for them.

“Neither,” Sam is, fortunately, apparently not offended by the question, “I learned in B-O-Y S-C-O-U-T-S.” She thinks he could have just signed the word boy, then spelled scouts, but then, she does not know if one must always spell an entire proper noun, even if one of the words is a sign itself already.

That makes sense, Angela supposes. She never did any sort of scouts, herself, but from what she knows of the organizations, it seems like the sort of thing they would teach people to do, a skill with no real practical application, an old one, one that teaches patience and diligence—and is perhaps a little dangerous.

“My mother taught me,” she tells Sam, before she has the chance to rethink it. This is not a memory, exactly, is not risking her overwriting what little of her mother she still knows, but it comes close, because when she thinks about it for too long then she does start to remember, in flashes, her mother’s calloused hands large and rough when holding her own, and a voice in her ear—maybe her mother’s, maybe what she wants to imagine her mother sounded like, in that moment, _zarter, Chind._

Sam seems surprised, “To whittle?” asks he, for confirmation.

“No,” says Angela “She C-A-R-V-E-D wood.” Or, she tries to say that. What she signs is something more like, _No whittle cut-wood, mother C-A-R-V-E-D cut-wood_ , but Sam understands what it is she means.

“E-X-P-E-N-S-I-V-E H-O-B-B-Y,” responds he, all spelled, eyebrows raised in surprise, partially affected for emphasis, but mostly genuine.

In theory, Angela does not disagree—it would have been expensive, for her mother to have bought all the large blocks of wood she carved, for her to have built a workspace, and to have procured all the tools—but there is only one mistake, there, with Sam’s assumption, “It was her job.”

(What little she taught Angela was not the part she did for work, did not touch upon the research that must have accompanied restoration, the knowledge of place and time and trend, was only the mechanics of it, on flawed wood that would have otherwise been discarded, and even then, she taught Angela only because she asked, and because she thought it more practical than reading the many books which otherwise occupied Angela’s time, at that age, thought it a more productive sort of interest than any of her child’s theoretical knowledge of science and medicine.)

A sign Angela does not recognize, open palm facing his chest and the other hand, only his pinky extended, descends in a wavy line. “A-R-T-I-S-T?” he spells, after a moment.

“No,” says she, “C-A-R-P-E-N-T-E-R.”

Certainly, there was an artistic element to her mother’s work, making furniture and renovating homes for people who wanted everything done the traditional, wooden way, who could still afford such at thing. When her wealthier clients asked for it, her mother would carve a door, or a table, would turn the feet of a chair into claws and make a panel for the gable, but most often, her work was sturdier, steadier, practical, her creativity mostly reserved for when a piece of wood could not be used, or was removed in restoration, too warped to build with, and only suitable for transformation into something beautiful. 

Her father was the artist, really, was the one who wanted all things to be more than they needed to be. Angela’s mother was far more practical than that—except, except, here a memory, long forgotten: her little bed, pushed against the wall, and she can see it, again, the little headboard her mother made for her, a name, her old one, at the center, surrounded by little bears and other animals, and in each corner, a figure, her parents there always to protect her, if only so that she could see their likeness, when she woke from a nightmare, and not instead go into their room to search for comfort there.

“Very traditional,” observes Sam, and Angela wonders if that is the word he would have preferred to use, or if he chose it because she knows it, and it communicates his meaning well enough.

(Perhaps it is neither, perhaps there is some other meaning to the same sign that she does not yet know, and she cannot yet understand from context.)

“In some ways,” Angela says, because yes, carpentry is a very traditional sort of work, particularly in this era, when so much is metal, is not made at all by human hands, and because, more importantly, her mother did care a good deal about tradition, about maintaining a link to the past, started covering her hair, when she got married, always sat on the women’s side at shul, apart from Angela’s father. In other ways, however, her mother was able to accept that which was not tradition—after all, she was a carpenter, not any sort of caregiver, did the sort of manual labor too often reserved for men.

“Is that why she taught you?” Sam asks her, or, at least, Angela is relatively certain that is what his question is.

“No,” says she, “She taught me because I asked her to.”

(That is, perhaps, an oversimplification, but she does not know, really, why her mother was so happy to see her interested in learning to carve, and it is not as if she can ask. Part of her thinks that her mother hoped she would become more interested in practical things, if she learned by doing, and in that regard, she was partly right—Angela’s work is nothing anyone could call impractical, even if it did require a university education, rather than an apprenticeship. Another part of her wonders if her mother was happy to see her interested in something traditionally considered masculine, for once. What her parents might have thought of her being trans, Angela will never know, but she was aware, even as a child, that she surprised her parents, by not behaving as they had expected a son might.)

“You must have been better behaved than Fareeha,” Sam laughs, “I didn’t even let her cut her food until she was nine!”

It is hard for Angela to picture the Fareeha of today as the child she must once have been. Now, Fareeha is very disciplined, in all things, but once, Angela supposes, that discipline might have simply been willfulness. Both stem from having a certain sort of mettle.

“Was there any I-N-C-I-D-E-N-T that caused that?” Angela asks, hoping that _why_ substitutes for the final clause of her sentence.

Yes, Sam is able to confirm for her, and to tell her the story, and answer a handful of Angela’s other questions about what sort of child Fareeha was, besides—stubborn and sensitive and scared, all of which Angela can see a little of, in the woman she is today, with her iron will, her compassion, the way she needs, sometimes, to check in on people whom she considers her responsibility, because even off the field, she worries about their safety. 

Then, a question from Sam, all his own: “Do you like children?”

How to answer that? Certainly, Angela likes children, wants, on some level, to be a mother, but she lacks experience, and is afraid that her own childhood, or lack thereof, would make it difficult for her to care for children properly. When she imagines a future between she and Fareeha, she wants children in it—but she does not know how well she would do with a child in the long-term, only ever has to deal with them for a few hours at most, and only in a professional setting. She would not want all the work to fall to Fareeha.

“I do,” says she, but leaves out all of her fears about being a mother, about failing her hypothetical children. Sam does not need to know that, wants only to know if they might happen, so she feels she ought to keep her answer nice for him. She qualifies the statement, even so, “They’re better P-A-T-I-E-N-T-S than A-D-U-L-T-S.” Children are less likely to hide from her the extent of their injuries out of pride or shame, are less likely to have an opinion on the morality of her work, either in Overwatch or her research itself, and to let that color their treatment. If adults want to refuse her help, she must, of course, respect that, but it hurts, to know that people will suffer needlessly, because they do not want to be treated, to be treated by _her_ , or to admit that they need treatment.

Children are simpler. They do as they are asked, answer what is asked, accept the help that they need.

Likely, this is not the sort of answer Sam wanted, and it shows on his face. “I didn’t mean P-A-T-I-E-N-T-S,” he tells her, and then, a more complicated question, “Do you _want_ children?” wherein the motion _want_ is exaggerated, the grasping motion, as he puts emphasis on the word.

“I don’t know,” says Angela, honestly, because although she wants to be a mother, she does not know that she wants a child to have _her_ for a mother. “I like the idea,” says she, wishing that she could explain herself better, that she knew better how to express herself, “But…” she hesitates, “I don’t know how to say it.”

“Here,” Sam says, pulls out his phone and passes it to her, presses it into her hands, “You can type, if it’s easier.”

If only. “I don’t know how to speak it, either,” she clarifies. She appreciates the gesture, of course, that he is willing to let her do that, rather than to sign to him, if it would help, but it is not her lack of fluency in sign that is the problem, here, is instead her inability to put words to her thoughts, her emotions. “I’m scared,” says she, after a pause, “I’ll be a bad mother.” It is a normal fear, she knows, but she thinks that she is not a normal person, just as her experiences growing up were not normal, either, “My parents D-I-E-D when I was seven. What do I know about family?”

Normally, she would not share this with anyone, but she knows that he is asking this of her not because he is interested in if _she_ wants children, not really, but because he wants to know if she and Fareeha will have children, one day, wants to know about the future of his own family. Here, she feels, she owes him her honesty. 

(Or part of it. There are other things about herself she worries would make her an unsuitable mother, from the way she handles her own emotions to her work, but those she could not begin to express if she tired, does not know how to acknowledge even to herself. What she can, she will tell him, but some things are beyond her, still, are fears she could not express even to Fareeha.)

His answer surprises her, therefore, “Family isn’t everything.”

“What?” asks she, one word. All this trip, she has been thinking of family, of tradition, of what it means to belong in the world. How could it not be the most important thing, when raising a child? What else has she ever wanted, besides a family?

“Fareeha is happy,” Sam says, “Now.” A pause, and then, “She wasn’t always.” And another sentence, “She wasn’t before Overwatch.”

Sign language is often thought of as silent, but when Sam signs _Overwatch_ his hands come together with enough force that Angela can hear it, clearly.

Before Overwatch, even when her family was all still alive and not _not-dead_ as Ana is now, Fareeha was not happy. It is an interesting thing, Sam is implying. Family makes Fareeha happy, yes, is important to her, and to her identity, but she needed more than just family to be happy, and if that is so, if Overwatch is somehow just as important, if being with Angela is…

That is a thought for the future, certainly.

“I understand,” Angela says, because she knows what he means, even if she does not, on an emotional level, necessarily agree with what it is he is saying about the nature of family. “But maybe talk about children can wait?” suggest she, “At least until I’ve P-R-O-P-O-S-E-D?” Best not to get too far ahead of herself. She is reasonably certain that Fareeha will say yes, but still, she worries.

“You’re going to P-R-O-P-O-S-E?” Sam repeats, as if she had not just confirmed that very thing.

“Yes,” Angela answers, “Soon.” 

When, she does not know, but the time will be right, and she will be ready, when it comes, will know what to say.

“Good,” says he, after having spent only a moment considering. “You make her very happy.” _Very_ he repeats more than once when signing, a way of showing magnitude.

“I hope so,” Angela says, and it is true. “I hope I always do.”

Angela does not like planning for the future, thinking too long or too deeply about what is to come, but she likes to imagine a world in which she wakes, every day, and knows that Fareeha is happy, and that she has caused at least a part of that joy. That would be a future worth looking forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes:  
> \- fareeha definitely specifically told sam she had to visit her cousins to see the baby he told her abt last chapter, lmao. i deleted a line abt it but just Know that she is taking silly pics w said baby throughout this whole chapter  
> \- a lot of fareehas family signs bc sams deafness is genetic so hes not the only Deaf one. however unless EVERYONE knows sign, big gatherings can still be hard and isolating for Deaf/HoH ppl. sams close w his family but prefers to see ppl one on one throughout the year  
> \- ive been writing fareeha as Tlingit bc according to jake (who is native and like... has a degree in native studies, too) thinks that fits best w what we know. specifically Áa Tlein Ḵwáan. however ive avoided naming them specifically only bc if blizzard later decides shes like. Haida or smtg. i will NOT be caught having to change a lot of very specific cultural details across multiple fics. however if fareeha is tlingit, the proper term for what angela refers to as a totem pole is "kootéeyaa" (thank u to anita for answering jake and i's language questions! she will never read this but like... u know. she was very kind and helpful)  
> \- i actually know two signs for whittle but theyre both family signs (one is in my family and one is from some boy scout i know's family) so if there is a standard sign... i dont know it! mea culpa if anyone is more knowledgeable  
> \- zarter, Chind is just "gentler, child" in swiss german. yes they spell Kind as Chind no i dont control the dialects!  
> \- woodcarving is actually a very old and tradition in one canton of switzerland--not the one ive written angela as being from, however, which is why she specifies that her mother was primarily a carpenter, not wanting anyone to get the two professions confused. one is practical, but beautiful, one is art  
> \- angela: when i propose it will go well. meanwhile, i already wrote that fic and... she kinda blows it. fareeha still says yes and like, is crying, but angela DEFINITELY screws up the proposal. oh well
> 
> sorry for so many notes! lots of cultural stuff in this chapter since it was about tradition/family
> 
> also rip walleye, i cut out her big scene :(( maybe ill work her into the last chapter. just know shes a big fluffy white cat sam rescued who is skittish, REALLY affected by catnip, and generally quite friendly once she gets to know people


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me starting the new yr off right by not failing my continuing resolution (to write every day) day one... even if i felt like it. BUT I DID IT LAST YR... i can write every day this yr too

When the morning of the 31st arrives, Fareeha finds that she is not ready, yet, to get out of bed, lingers with Angela for as long as she can, until hunger and a need for the restroom drive them both to rise. She loves her work, she does, loves to be able to help people, to do something that she thinks makes a difference in the world, and she loves her coworkers, her comrades, loves the pace of it, always moving, always doing something, always needed somewhere by someone. It is a good life she has, and she would not wish for another one.

Yet, on this, the final morning of the year, Fareeha does not want her vacation to end, yet, does not want to rise, because she knows that tomorrow will be the first, will be the start of a new year, and she will have to fly back to base, will return to work and her day to day life. She likes work, she does, but she has enjoyed this too, a little more than a week of peace with Angela and her father, two of the most important people in her life. Seeing them come to understand one another, come to like each other, has been so nice for her, has made her feel as if this is _right_ , what she and Angela have, is something that will be good for her in the long term.

(Already, she thought that, but it is nice to have confirmation from an unbiased source. Her father has never hesitated to tell her, in the past, when he did not like her girlfriends, has always been sure to tell her when he thinks they are not good for her—even if she has not, at the time, wanted to listen—and thus far, he has always been right. If he likes Angela, and he does, then that means he, too, must believe that they are good for one another, that they will continue to be happy together, marriage or no.)

Overwatch, too, is good for her, of course, in a way that it never was for her mother, has not given her a sense of purpose, but has directed it, allowed her to channel her natural desire to restore order, to ensure that all is well in the world, and to defend those who need defending. Overwatch, too, is good for her, but this trip has been a special sort of good, has given her something Overwatch cannot, a chance to examine what her family means to her, her identity. For all that her mother is tied up in Overwatch, and that half of her identity, the Amari half, is a legacy of service, it cannot answer all her questions about herself, cannot make her whole, cannot be everything of who she is. For as much as she has embraced the Amari part of her, she cannot shun her father, either, cannot renounce that heritage, complicated as her relationship with it may be. Always, she will be from here, too, will belong to these people, and that does not cease to matter, when she is with Overwatch, does not cease to inform the way she thinks about the world, her role in it. 

To have had this chance to work through what she wants to keep, as tradition, what from her father’s culture, what from her father’s relationship with her, has been important to her, will continue to be, moving forwards, as she builds a legacy within Overwatch. As much as she does not want to admit it, she needs this, needs to be able to continue to work through her identity, her values. For too long, she built herself around a myth of what Overwatch might have been, and now that she is living with the reality of it, knows what it truly is to try and save the world, she knows that such cannot be everything, to her. They never will succeed, no matter how hard they try, and she must content herself with that, with the trying, and learn to measure her worth by some other metric.

That, her father understands. That, he has been able to do. No, he cannot change everything about the way that their people are treated, the way they always have been, but he can make progress, can work towards a better future, and although he will never be content, with the state of the world, he can still be _happy_ nonetheless.

Fareeha wants that, that happiness, that peace in the knowledge that one works one’s hardest, tries one’s best, and has made meaningful change, even if the world is still not what one wants from it. Fareeha wants for her work in Overwatch to feel like enough, for her, so that she can stop feeling guilt, when she relaxes in the evening as _Fareeha_ for all the things that _Pharah_ cannot do, all the problems she cannot solve, all the lives she cannot save. She wants to be fulfilled, by what it is she does, and to know that Overwatch is not everything, does not have to be the only way she betters the world, so that she can be happy, when she is not working.

On this vacation, she has achieved that, if only for a little while, has been happy to be with Angela, and her father, has felt she is accomplishing something of value, discussing with her father what it would mean to preserve their heritage for future generations—and none of her happiness has been rooted in her work, in warfare, in wounding, killing others.

If Overwatch is going to move forward, is going to survive, this time, its transition into the future, into serving a population outside of endless warfare, then Fareeha is going to need to know who she is, outside of fighting, what she wants, outside of what Overwatch once was. Right now, what she is seeking is balance, is oneness, with herself and within her relationship, so that she can bring a new perspective to these old problems, can make their organization a better one, ready to help more people, and, personally, can be happy with what it is they are able to achieve.

That is a lofty goal, she knows, particularly for a person as ambitious as herself, who has always wanted to do more, to be better, but she wants it, nonetheless, wants it for the world, so that Overwatch might be as good as is possible, and, too, wants it for herself, so that she can be as happy as possible, as whole as possible, can be a better partner to Angela and a more content person, overall.

Angela, too, wants her to be happy, even if Angela does not always understand what it is, to struggle with one’s identity. In every way, Angela is certain about who she is, about what it is she needs to do in order to be better, if anything, and knows how it is that her heritage and her own experiences inform her morality. There are other things, about which she is less certain, things that come easier to Fareeha—imagining a future, contemplating the past, knowing her own emotions, and how to make herself happy—but in that regard, she is steady, is strong, and it is something Fareeha has envied, something she wants to work towards for herself, just as Angela is working to, like her, accept that in her life which is written in stone, to know that when she has failed, it is a bad thing, but it is not the end of all things, nor necessarily an indictment of herself, as a person.

For all that they have accomplished, for as strong and as set their personalities are, both of them have many ways in which they still might grow, many things upon which they might improve, and they both know it, they do.

Last night, they discussed as much, with their resolutions, tried to imagine a better future for the world, for Overwatch, for them, as a couple, and for themselves, as individuals. What would each of them change? How can they begin to do so? It is not an easy thing, to so consciously move forwards, but lately, Fareeha has felt that something is changing, is just around the corner, and she wants to be ready for it.

Maybe this will be the year that Overwatch makes itself official, again, that the Recall transitions from just pushing for their work to be decriminalized, to actively working towards reinstitution as a legitimate organization. Increasingly, there has been talk of such, and not just among the lot of them, but among the press in some nations. It could happen, it could.

But what would it mean, for them? What would they have to give, what would they have to change? Lately, it has been on Fareeha’s mind, what a good future would look like, and she is not certain, yet, is not so set as Angela is in her opinion that there is _one_ right way forward, for Overwatch, and it has been good, to have these days away from that, free to work on something within herself, rather than without.

But that must end, it must. They do not have an unlimited number of hours in the day, and already, she spent most of the morning in bed, with Angela, not even speaking, just holding one another, dozing in and out of consciousness. It was a lovely indulgence, a rare one, but she needs to be sure that they are packed for their flight tomorrow, needs to help her father cook, as she promised that she would, needs to feel that she has not wasted all her time, today, and therefore fit in as much time with her father as possible. She does want him to think, because she rose slowly today, she is sick of seeing him.

(Once, things were different between them. When joining Overwatch was her whole world, she had no understanding of her father’s life, no desire to be made to understand it, saw visiting him as a chore, particularly when they would go out together, for she knew she would be asked to translate, if they encountered anyone who did not sign. As best she could, she avoided being with her father, then, in public, and did not know what to say to him in private, did not want to listen to him tell her that Overwatch was not all that there was, was not the only way in which she could make a difference in the world. He was right, of course, and knew better than she what Overwatch had done to her mother, how war had changed here, but then, Fareeha was not willing to listen. He was right, but she did not want him to be, and so for a time, things were difficult, for the both of them, and she knows, even now, that she has to be careful, not to seem as if she still feels that way, for he will always remember the way things were, will always worry that she is only humoring him, now that she is older and more mature.)

So the day passes quickly, busy as she is, and she does not mind, really, enjoys spending the time with her father and Angela both, enjoys telling stories, and making jokes, and talking about the future, what they want from the year to come. The day passes, and it passes, and it passes, and before Fareeha knows it, the sun has set, and it is getting late, and they have all three of them recongregated in the living room, her father in his favorite chair and she and Angela pressed up against one another on the couch, as near as Angela will allow her.

(This was one of Angela’s resolutions, that in the coming year she will be better about loving Fareeha more openly, allowing herself to relax and to accept that yes, sometimes people will realize that they are a couple, and yes, sometimes they will disapprove, will think things about it that do not bear repeating, but that she cannot change that, and she still can be happy, with Fareeha, can enjoy being known to love her, even so. To hold hands in public is not a terrible thing, even if she is not ready to confirm any sort of rumors about their relationship, and if people know that they are together, sometimes—what does it hurt?)

It is cozy, is nice. She is catching her father up on all the family gossip she heard while visiting with all her cousins, and explaining to Angela who is who, in their family, all the while, while her father does his best to contextualize the family drama—only _mostly_ for Angela’s benefit—while Angela keeps one eye on the conversation, and the other on the space underneath her father’s chair where they saw Walleye run to, when all of them came to sit down. It is so peaceful, so calm, something Fareeha has rarely associated with family, in her adult life. Much as she loves her mother, close as they have been, at times, and much as she wants, now, to prepare that relationship, she knows that this is the sort of comfortable domesticity that her mother will always eschew.

And that, Fareeha thinks, is fine. Her mother does not have to like this sort of thing, does not have to be enthusiastic about the sort of introspection asked of her by celebrating the new year, can keep her thoughts about what it is she would like to change, to do differently, to herself. Fareeha will not demand more of her than Ana is already giving—for, Fareeha realizes, upon reflecting on the last year, much has changed, already, in the way that they are able to interact with one another, in the way that her mother and Angela try to communicate with one another, in the way that Ana seems to think of Fareeha, as an adult, now, fully formed, not the rebellious teen she once was. 

Slowly, slowly, things are getting better, have been getting better for the past year, since she and her mother promised, on the last 31st, that they would work to move forwards, with one another, would work to build a new, healthier relationship with one another. They cannot erase their past, cannot make amends for all that they said to one another, cannot claim that they did not mean it, but they can do something important, nonetheless, can decide what it will mean for them, moving forwards, to be mother and daughter, what would make them both happy, what would not be painful, what could be transformative, for each of them. 

So, although it would be nice, if her mother liked these sorts of rituals, if she wanted to be here for this, Fareeha does not mind, terribly, that she does not like such things, knows that when she needs her mother to, Ana will work to change, to do better, be better, and there need be no ritual to sanctify that. Last year, Ana gave her a new year’s resolution, because Fareeha needed one from her. This year, she does not, and her mother is elsewhere, doing something else, something which is not so painful for her, so uncomfortable, as admitting that she is not perfect, or even perfectly happy with whom she is. 

Fareeha will let her have that. For now, she has her father, and she has Angela, and that is more than enough, for her.

Maybe one day, Ana will rejoin them, but as happy as Fareeha is, to be repairing her relationship with her mother, to be building a better future for the both of them, one in which things are not so painful, much as she is grateful, for all the work Ana has put in, she does not _need_ her mother, is happy enough with her father, alone.

It is more than enough for her, now, to not think of Overwatch, and to instead do nothing but sit back and laugh as her father attempts to coax Walleye out from under the chair and into Angela’s lap with the promise of treats. This is not the satisfaction of a job well done, of a mission gone right, is not the knowledge that she has saved anyone, or receiving her mother’s praise—hard-won. This is just an ordinary sort of moment, one which could happen to any three people in the world, in any time or any place, and still, it is satisfying, still, Fareeha is happy. 

Naturally, it is a different sort of satisfaction, but that is one of her goals, in this coming year, to be happier with the little things, to not take for granted that she is pleased in the moment, to not need all her joy to come from big things, large achievements. A simple moment can be enough, should be. Not everything is about her work, about her greater missions, she can be happy in the present, in the here and now, with the people whom she cares about, with the traditions she has built for herself, can take pride in the part of herself that is only _Fareeha_ , not _Pharah,_ not a part of the Amari legacy, just one woman, not a hero, but an ordinary person, when her armor is off. 

Once, it would have seemed impossible for her, to be happy like this, to not think that she could be doing more with her life, in some way. But now, she has achieved all that she wanted, from her work, has been chosen to lead a Strike Team, within Overwatch, is working to guide them into the future, to grow as an organization and to learn from the past. 

For the first time in as long as she can remember, there is nothing in particular she is striving towards. Always, she was working to be accepted into Overwatch, one day, working to prove she belonged there, working to preserve her family legacy, after her mother’s ‘death.’ Now, she is doing none of those things, for she has achieved all that she ever reached towards, and she never thought, along the way, about what would come, when she reached this point, what it would mean to be able to say that she met all of her professional goals.

If she were someone else, it might leave her feeling empty, and briefly, when she was officially made the new Strike Commander, rather than just given command of one of the new, informal strikes, she did have a bit of a crisis, did wonder what it meant for her, to be able to say that she had nothing more to work towards. 

Now, however, she is happy. She _is_. There are new goals she has set for herself, some for Overwatch, to see it reinstated formally, to expand their reach, to be able, again, to help more people, but most are more personal, most involve her becoming happier with where she is.

(This, she did not foresee: no matter how much of her life she spent working towards the title of Strike Commander, having it does not mean that suddenly, she feels fulfilled, does not mean that Strike Commander is all that she is, means only that such is a part of her duties, now. What it means to Pharah is clear-cut, but what does it mean to _Fareeha_ , now, to have that role? She does not know, she does not, cannot know, until more time has passed, until she has had a chance to live the role, rather than just accept it.)

Already, she is happy, she knows, but things could always be better. She could lose less sleep, over her failures in her job, could be more present, when Angela needs her, could finally decide what it means, to have so many different parts to her identity, could be able to stand up and say _This is who I am_ , rather than simply _This is what I believe in._

With time, it will come. She is learning to be happy as Fareeha, too, rather than only waiting for the next moment to be a hero. The time she has spent here, with Angela and her father, she has remembered what it is like to have time off, to enjoy her hobbies, to truly relax, with people who care about her, and for whom she does not have to pretend to be a brave soldier, a good commander, a friendly comrade, can be herself, no matter what that is, in the moment. Not Pharah, not an Amari, not even _Fareeha_ , the image she has built for herself, in the off-hours. She can just be herself, whatever that means, and her father and Angela, they will accept her.

Like her mother, she thinks she is too often too concerned with image, with how people perceive her, and with imbuing things with a deeper meaning. If she and her father bake cookies every year on Christmas, does she have to decide if that is a tradition or not? Does ritualizing the act bring it some legitimacy, when the actual act itself remains unchanged? Need one define oneself only with what rites one performs?

It is a complicated set of questions, one without any answers, but Fareeha thinks that maybe, she does not need to think of things in terms of legacies, anymore. Who does she know whose legacy has made them happy? Not her mother, certainly, nor Angela, nor Reinhardt. What she passes down will matter, of course, but has it ever been for her to choose? Had her father her way, she would have learned far more of their world, growing up, would have learned their language, even if his deafness prevented him from ever speaking it with her, and she decided not to, decided to take only a few things, from him, a few values she would like to pass on, if she has a child.

Maybe she cannot decide what her legacy is, cannot decide what future generations will think of Overwatch, will think of her, can only decide this: what she will keep for herself, and what will make her happy, in that moment.

Right now, she does not concern herself with what she has yet to achieve, what mark Overwatch will make, only realizes that she is very happy, to be here like this, with her father and her partner, and a very, very fluffy cat, currently being persuaded to stay in place in Angela’s lap by her father’s reassuring hands and the treats she is being given.

Always, she has thought of tradition, of legacy, as some grand thing, but maybe that need not be the case. She will try, still, to stay connected to her father’s people, to learn more about their ways in order to pass that knowledge on, someday, if she has a child, and they want to be tethered to that part of themselves, but maybe, for her, all she needs is this, waiting for the new year with her father and her partner, sitting in the living room of her childhood home, laughing and joking, and participating in a little ritual of her and her father’s own.

It is not an important thing, is not grounded in history, only in their time together, but always, they exchange a present, on the last night of the year, because her mother did not want for her to celebrate Christmas, but it was clear, when she was a child, that she felt left out, going back to school in early January with nothing new, while so many of her friends got new toys, new clothes, new music. A gift to start the year off right is not a celebration of any holiday, not really, is something that her mother had no problem allowing them to do, if it would make Fareeha happy.

So they have done it, every year since then, for no other reason than that she should be happy. These days, the thing that makes her happiest is less the act of receiving a gift, and more the knowledge that whatever her father gives her, he has put a great deal of thought into. She, too, puts thought into her gifts to him, if only out of necessity—her father is a very contented person, the hardest sort of person to give anything to, for he wants nothing, other than time with her.

(Maybe, if she could really work miracles, she could have her mother here, and _that_ would be something he actually wants, time as a family, the kind they never really got to be, between the Omnic Crisis and Overwatch, but she cannot make her mother want to be here, so she will not try. Better that it just be the two of them, happy, or the two of them and Angela, than them and her mother, very much unwilling to join in, still thoroughly convinced that she has hurt Sam too much, by what she has done, to ever deserve a place in his life again. Never mind his own thoughts on the matter—she will not be swayed.)

It is past 23:00, when she glances to the clock, so she gets her father’s attention, taps his shoulder and suggests that, “We should probably exchange gifts now, we haven’t got much time left.”

Her father, having been distracted by getting his cat to accept the newest member of their family, seems surprised, “It’s that late already?”

“23:12,” Fareeha confirms.

“Time passes so quickly,” her father says, standing up slowly, so as not to startle Walleye, and then, to Angela, “If you R-U-B like this,” two fingers behind one of Walleye’s ears, “She’ll stay put.”

“Thank you,” Angela says, before her attention turns back to the cat, who seems to have decided that staying in Angela’s lap and being petted is better than following Sam to wherever he is going.

Fareeha does not have to go anywhere, has had her gift ready all the while, so she does her best to wait patiently while her father fetches whatever it is he has gotten her.

When he has left, Angela turns to Fareeha and says, “You should have told me we were exchanging gifts!” in a tone that makes it clear she believes Fareeha ought to have told her this.

“What does it matter? You didn’t know Dad—you couldn’t have bought him anything,” and, in fact, Angela is not the best at giving gifts for even the people she knows well, but Fareeha does not think it would be productive to point that out.

“But he’s been a good host,” Angela says, “So I feel like I ought to have done _something_.”

“It’s Dad and I’s tradition,” Fareeha explains, “Even Mom didn’t get him anything when she was here. But if you really feel bad about it, you can get him something once we’re back home, now that you know him a little better.”

“I will,” says Angela, very determined.

As Angela finishes speaking, Sam reenters the room, sees the seriousness of their expressions, sets down his gift, very carefully, and asks “Bad time?”

“No,” Fareeha says, “No, Angela just felt bad about not having a gift.”

“Fareeha!” Angela signs, this time, because her father is there, so he can see, too, what she is saying, does so sharply. If Walleye were not so used to sign, it would likely have startled her, and certainly would have were it spoken, but as it is, she stays put.

“It’s okay,” her father says, “Fareeha is happy, that’s gift enough for me.”

Fareeha does not know what to say in response to that, because it is true, Angela does make her happy, more than anything. Maybe, she does not know, still, how to reconcile all the parts of herself. Maybe, it will take her time, to disentangle her ideas of tradition, of the value of keeping a connection to her heritage, from the notions of a legacy she has so long defined herself by. Maybe, she has a long way to go before she is fully satisfied with her attempts to build an identity outside of just her work in Overwatch, her work towards Overwatch, and it will take time for her, to decide what it means for Fareeha, the woman, to be Strike Commander, what it means to want to uphold her mother’s legacy and to fear it, too, fear becoming a part of it, and not leaving a mark of her own, or at the very least being seen as something other than extension of her mother’s work.

She has a long way to go, yet, before she can ever be fully contented, with herself, but with this situation? With her father here, and her partner, both of them here for her? With the knowledge that her mother, even on the other side of the ocean, has been trying to be better to her, better for her, and will continue to do so? With the way her relationship is going, now, the fact that she knows that Angela—although she cannot promise forever, never will—loves her enough to want to be involved in her life as possible, to get to know her family, because she knows that such is important to Fareeha, is an important part of who she is.

With all of those things, Fareeha can be content.

Tomorrow, she will have to get on a plane, back to Overwatch, where she will be expected to start her job as the first proper Strike Commander of the Recall. What will change for her in the coming year, when she begins her tenure, she does not know, but she does know this—she has people who support her, now, has people who love her. Come what may, she will be ready for it, and here and now, with her father and Angela?

Fareeha is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fareeha and her fathers gifts were as follows  
> \- fareeha went thru the work of captioning all of the vlogs mei has made about her time in recall, so her dad can watch them and feel like he knows whats going on in her (and ana's) life  
> \- sam made a ship in a bottle thats a little mini ovw dropship, since fareeha got her big promotion. it took FOREVER
> 
> walleye finally had some rights! but since i cut the convo AGAIN... walleye got her name bc sam was going to go fishing w some buddies when he saw poor little walleye, obviously having been injured by a vehicle, and decided to take her to an emergency vet. obviously she survived but his friends were like "u picked the worst time for this! we caught the best walleye today!" and he was like ">:( i caught a better walleye" and so she was named. she is now 12 and still very happy and fluffy... so she lasted longer than those damn fish did
> 
> also when sam says to angela "u dont need to get me anything bc u make fareeha happy" he actually means "u told me ur prosposing to her" and that hes happy w that. angela however is still going to agonize over getting him a gift for like, a month
> 
> allusions to anas new years resolution are about a new years fic i wrote 31 dec 2016... if u wanna go back that far, its "hope (that you listen)" and yes... the dialogue is a little rough... i was a younger writer!
> 
> anyway sorry if this is kinda scattered... i had a great new yrs w my gf but then i ate too many of their delicious pastries and when u have esophagus issues overeating is very... painful... so i played myself LAKSJDFLKASJDFA and am suffering greatly as i type this. ill be fine im just like IM SO DUMB alksdjfalksdfa
> 
> hope ur having a happy new yr!! heres to a great 2020

**Author's Note:**

> bah humbug!
> 
> jk jk after ch2 the fic is pretty fluffy
> 
> updating m/w for the next 3.5 wks. yes i know itll end on christmas that way. yes im jewish. let me have this
> 
> title is from 1ds summer love, bc they never did a christmas album--THANK YOU ZAYN


End file.
